


Nite Owls

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Apocalypse, Crossover, M/M, References to Norse Religion & Lore, flaky-os, floating pyramids, this ended up more supernatural than wtnv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of the apocalypse the Winchesters stop for pie at the Moonlite All Nite Diner in downtown Night Vale.  Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I started writing this because after doing a long-ishVictorian AU (which necessitated a lot of research, as I know diddly-squat about the Victorian era) I thought it would be fun to toss off a silly one-shot Night Vale/Supernatural crossover. I always wondered what Sam and Dean would make of Night Vale, and vice versa. Unfortunately, this ended up a little more lengthy than I had originally envisioned (it happens – I like epic stuff). Also, this piece is ended up more Supernatural than Night Vale, as my stories will do what they will. Ah well._  
>     
>  _In addition, once upon a time, I wrote a serialized fic in another, completely different fandom that included a side story wherein the angel Raziel (who was female in my 'verse) married the Norse god, Odin, and they started a very weird family. Somehow, those characters ended up invading this tale. Sorry about that, I have no excuses there._
> 
>  
> 
> _My next story will be less weird, I promise. Night Vale in space! What could possibly go wrong?_
> 
>  
> 
>   _And one more bit because Z reminded me (thanks, Z!): This story is set in more or less current continuity for Night Vale (around the time of Orange Grove), early season 4 alternate continuity for Supernatural._

“A nexus of weird, you said?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Sort of like old times. They weren't exactly back in the swing of things, not yet: Dean had been, to be quite blunt, dead as a doornail just a week ago. Due to a bargain with a crossroads demon, Sam's brother had been torn limb from limb by a hellhound six months ago. Still reeling with shock and and half mad with grief, Sam and Bobby had buried what was left of him (not much) deep underground, his immortal soul dragged even deeper, into the pits of hell. 

That is, until seven days past when someone or something (and smart money was on the latter) had thrown his sorry-ass soul back into his miraculously reassembled body, and Dean had dug himself out of his own grave and stumbled back into the land of the living, with its ice cold beer and many episodes of _Dr. Sexy MD_ piled up on the DVR.

It was all kinds of weird.

But being here at Bobby's house, sitting on his ratty old couch, dusty books piled everywhere, the smell of something plain but tasty baking in the oven, that felt right.

At least as right as Sam had felt in a long time. He hadn't seen Bobby in a while. He had lit out almost immediately, trying to find a way to save his brother. And he had utterly, catastrophically failed. And now come to find out, while Dean was dead and Sam was otherwise occupied, the world had evidently piled itself into a handbasket and started marching towards hell, or at least the end times. Bobby wasn't exactly the type to mask his opinions, but Sam had never seen the old man quite so overwrought. Seemed there were signs and portents everywhere, being reported from every corner of the globe.

Sam side-eyed over to where Bobby was holding up newspaper clippings – still couldn't get the old bastard to go online, so Sam was hunched over his laptop, trying to tease some information out of the tiny aircard he had plugged in. Dean still had a long-necked beer bottle poised halfway to his lips, where it had been when he'd asked the question.

“Is 'Night Vale' one word or two, Bobby?” Sam asked, delicately pecking keys with his thick fingers.

“Two,” said the old man. “And, yeah, Dean, the place is a goddam a nexus of weird.”

“What flavor weird?” asked Dean, after a careful sip of his beer. “Weird good or weird bad?”

“Well, looks like it's pretty evenly balanced between catastrophe and genuine class A-1 fucking miracles. They got mysterious apparitions, inter-dimensional portals, mystical fogs, blinking lights-”

“Mystery Spot?” asked Dean, and Sam stifled a shiver. “We're not talking another Trickster, are we?”

“Not unless there's a whole damn migratin' flock of Tricksters,” Bobby shot back.

“And anyway,” said Dean, leaning back and grabbing up the TV remote, “what the fuck does that have to do with us? Unless you think the thing that dug me out of my grave is based in.... Where did you say this place was again? Arizona? New Mexico? 

“Bobby,” said Sam. “Night Vale. They have angels.” He turned around the laptop so the others could see the screen. “They live in back of the used car lot.”

Bobby crossed his arms and nodded sagely. He was good at that. In the meantime, Dean had clicked on the TV, and was flicking through the channels. “So, it's all a bunch of bullshit,” he mumbled.

“What?” asked Sam.

“Sammy. I'm sorry, but there's no such thing as angels,” Dean said, waving the beer bottle for emphasis.

Bobby was red-faced. “Boy,” he scolded Dean, “you tell me you just spent half a year in hell, getting' wailed on by demons, and you don't believe in angels?”

“Nope,” Dean insisted, glaring at the television.

Sam spread out large hands. “Dean, it's a lead. This is something big and scary that pulled you out, and we gotta track it down.”

“We're not running down every crazy ass story. I don't have time for that shit.” Dean put his boots up on Bobby's scarred coffee table and took a long pull of his beer, staring at a college football game.

“But Dean, what about the apocalypse?”

“Fuck the apocalypse. I just got outta jail, and I wanna watch some cheerleaders.”

“Dean,” said Bobby, his tone a warning. “Boy, I think you oughta reconsider.”

“Bobby, I can't see any reason why I'm getting off my ass to go out to-”

Quick as a flash, quicker than you'd ever expect for someone his age, the old hunter had snatched away the TV remote, and was standing like a mighty wall between Dean and images of the Jayhawk pep squad. “Because if you don't get your lazy ass off my couch right fucking now, I'm gonna personally stuff your body back into that grave. Now move it, both of you!”

Sam had his laptop closed and was halfway out the door before Bobby had even finished the sentence, Dean hot on his heels. 

“Idjits,” muttered Bobby, watching the Impala screech out of his dusty driveway.


	2. Chapter 2

_Some weeks later...._

The thing about electric cars, you didn't hear them.

Sam thought it was weird. Not “mysterious hooded figures carving sand castles in the middle of Main Street” weird, nor “strange curse that causes all of the stoplights in town to simultaneously transform into pink flamingos and fly south for the winter” weird (all of which they had experienced in the past days), but still weird. 

He hadn't heard the hybrid coupe pulling into the parking lot, so he looked up in mild surprise when the doorbell gave a little ting the couple entered the diner. At least, he was pretty sure they were a couple: they would pause every few minutes and give each other those googly-eyed glances. It was pretty cute, actually. 

It seemed like they'd just come in after work, because the one guy – male, about 6'1”, medium build, black/brown, Hispanic or Latino – was still wearing his lab coat. He carried a buzzing piece of equipment that more or less resembled one of Dean's homemade EMF meters. Every so often it would light up and hum and he would mutter something about the current lethality index. 

The other guy was dressed for a combination Halloween/New Year's Eve party: male, 5'10, slight build, blond/violet(?), Caucasian or possibly South Asian. Pale as a vampire, though Sam wasn't getting a vamp vibe off him. His suit was made out of an iridescent, tiger-striped material that changed colors as the light hit it. He had a bunch of tattoo-like marking on his forearms (visible where his sleeves were rolled up) that also appeared to move in the light. Sam wasn't sure how he achieved this. Maybe it was UV body paint, but given the crazy shit they'd encountered in this town the past few hours, he wasn't going to rule out some kind of voodoo weirdness.

They sat in the booth behind Dean, and that's when the smaller guy tossed his hair, and Sam saw.

“Dean,” Sam whispered.

“Um.” They had finished their dinner a while back and pushed the plates aside. Dean had the NVAA road map spread out on the table, which he was marking up with a yellow highlighter pen. Sam was never quite sure in the days of GPS why the hell Dean still used paper maps when it would be so easy to have a soothing female voice coolly inform you when you needed to turn left in 200 meters. His elder brother capped his marker and glanced up.

“Don't look, but the dude sitting behind you?”

Dean nodded.

Sam pointed to his own forehead. “He's got a third eye.”

There was a whirring noise outside as one of the ever-present helicopters that dotted the sky buzzed low.

The guy at the next booth had started to speak. “You have to try a slice of their strawberry pie, Carlos. I tell you, it's food of the gods.” He had a distinctive voice. It had a soothing quality to it.

“Pies contain a high amount of processed sugars, Cecil,” said his boyfriend, who was currently scanning the menu with his device. “I'm concerned about its effects on my glycemic index, which would potentiate decreased satiety.” 

“Cecil?” said Dean, who suddenly turned around.

 _“I told you not to turn around,”_ Sam muttered into his hand, keeping a smile frozen on his face.

“Hey, are you Cecil?” Dean asked the blond guy. “Dude with the radio show?”

Cecil broke into a sunny smile, all three eyes shining, the marks on his arm wriggling triumphantly. “I'm Cecil Palmer. I have the honor of broadcasting on our modest little community radio station, yes.”

Sam sat dumbly for a moment. Dean was already up, making introductions, shaking hands. That crazy radio show Dean kept listening to. It was Sam's fault, actually. Sam had stumbled onto it when he had taken a shift at driving down the lonely desert highways hereabouts. Since Dean had intemperately ripped out his iPod jack, Sam had been forced to search the radio dial for something other than his brother's Paleolithic-era rock. He was sure Cecil's program was some big in-joke, or maybe a theater project for the local community college. College kids could be real assholes sometimes. But then Dean had gotten to listening, and, after a while, had declared the guy a genius. Well, either that or batshit insane, which was often the same thing.

“I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam,” Dean was saying, meaning it was probably time to pay attention. Real names, too, no dodgy aliases. And, dammit, now Cecil had moved to sit by Lab Coat and Dean was sliding into their booth, meaning Sam would have to get over there and act sociable as well. 

With a sigh, Sam wriggled out of their booth and slid in next to his brother, which put him opposite of Cecil and his weird purple eyes. Carlos, the dude wearing the lab coat, was still bent over an apparatus, dark eyes fixed on the shuddering dials.

Awkward conversation was forestalled for a moment as the waitress suddenly appeared at their booth. She didn't walk up: she literally appeared in a puff of smoke, with the slight scent of overripe peaches. 

“Carlos and I are here for a slice of pie,” said Cecil, who seemed rather unfazed by the whole thing. “May I recommend the strawberry? They also have Key lime, and a seasonal schnozzleberries.”

“Key limes? In a desert?” asked Sam, and wondering that he would bother to even ask when he was sitting across from a dude with three eyes and an armful of wriggling tentacle tattoos. At least his creepy third eye was now hidden beneath his bangs again.

“John Peters – you know, the farmer – has an orchard just outside of town,” Cecil explained, steepling his hands, the markings twining around his wrists restively.

“Key limes?” asked Sam.

“No, imaginary corn. But he's also begun farming imaginary tropical fruit.”

“Strawberry pie,” Dean told the waitress. “And some coffee.” He turned back to Cecil. “I like my pie non-imaginary.”

“Just coffee for me,” sighed Sam: it looked like they were staying a while. He was hungry. But not for pie.

“Strawberry pie a la mode,” Cecil told her. 

“Dutch apple for me,” said Carlos, who was still staring at his blinking device. “It has the highest mean satiety index.”

The waitress disappeared.

Cecil interlaced his fingers. “So, Dean, I'll assume you are not here to view our lovely Waterfront Center, nor to kneel in obeisance at the Brownstone Spire?”

Dean shot a glance at Sam. “My brother and I are hunters.”

“We have a very lively local NRA chapter,” said Cecil, sipping his coffee. “Mmm, this is very good coffee.”

“Not exactly that kind of hunter,” said Dean. “We hunt things that are … unusual. Monsters, that kind of thing.”

“Like a lot of this town, actually,” Sam admitted, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Dean.

The waitress reappeared with coffee. “We're out of the Dutch apple, sweetie,” she told Carlos.

Carlos at last looked up. He was quite improbably handsome, and wearing a pair of the thickest horn rim glasses Sam had ever seen. “Why not try blueberry, my dear?” Cecil asked.

Carlos burst into that giddy “We're going out” smile at Cecil, displaying neat rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. He fingered Cecil's lapel. “You know, the fruit of the rudraksha, often referred to as blueberry beads, are not actually blue.”

“Then why are they called blueberry beads?” asked Sam, not following the sudden odd turn in the conversation.

“They _appear_ blue. However, it's structural. It's caused by a specific form of wave interference.”

“He'll have blueberry pie,” Cecil told the waitress, who winked out once again.

“We're currently hunting down signs of the apocalypse,” said Dean.

“Well isn't that neat?” said Cecil. “For I am become death, destroyer of worlds. May I ask, which specific apocalypse?”

“There's more than one?” asked Sam. “I mean, isn't one enough? Boom, you're done?”

“Well of course apocalyptic events are multifarious!” said Cecil. “As much so as the world's many and varied mythologies. Some say in fire, some say in blood, some say ice, some say it will be the rabbits: I for one have never trusted them, with their little pink noses and cotton tails.” All three eyes narrowed in derision.

“Some say it will be an earthquake,” said Carlos, arching an eyebrow and keeping one eye on his meters.

Cecil nodded. “Why, there are as many ways for the earth to end as there are varieties of pie.”

As if in answer, the waitress popped into their reality once again laden with plates of pastry. She spent a short time distributing treats, and then once again disappeared in a puff of smoke and peaches. Cecil reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim case. At first Sam assumed he was taking out a cigarette, but instead he extracted a delicate, three-tined fork, which he used, instead of the restaurant's flatware, to eat his pie. 

Dean paused and, as Sam grew suddenly jealous of his brother's dessert, leaned back. Dean shrugged out of his leather jacket, and then rolled up the short sleeve of his T-shirt.

Cecil and Carlos both leaned forward, staring at the raised, reddened handprint on Dean's shoulder. Cecil swept up his bangs, and his third eye opened wide. Carlos studied his whatever-it-was meter.

“And you are recently returned from the netherworld?” asked Carlos.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “How could you tell that?”

“Your soul is still poorly attached to your body,” Carlos explained.

“It probably hasn't had time to bond properly,” said Cecil. “Anyway, sometimes that kind of thing happens. Souls sometimes just come loose on their own. End up stuck between the couch cushions, anything.”

Dean pushed his sleeve back down and tucked into his pie. “I was dragged into hell, by a hellhound.”

“I’m sorry about that,” tutted Cecil. “We’ve had our problems here from time to time with feral dogs.” He studied Dean. “Was it a crossroads bargain?”

“Yes,” grumbled Sam, cursing those red-eyed bastards.

“But that’s not relevant,” said Dean, eyeing his brother. “Right now, we're looking for the guy who busted me back out.”

“That mark is almost certainly celestial in origin,” said Carlos, tapping one of the dials on his meter, which was running over into the red.

“Ah, that would make sense, although we of course are not supposed to be privy to the hierarchies,” said Cecil.

“Wait, are you saying that's the handprint of an angel?” asked Sam. He suddenly felt out of breath, like someone had smacked him in the chest.

“Oh, bullshit,” said Dean. “Angels don't exist.”

“No, they most certainly do not,” said Cecil, spearing another bite of strawberry pie. He contemplated it on the end of his three-tined fork, dripping red. “Nor are we as citizens privy to their knowledge, nor knowledge of the tiered heavens, as the City Council has requested.”

“They should come to the car lot,” said Carlos, his perfectly white teeth stained blue by the pie.

“What's at the car lot?” asked Dean, sitting back and rubbing his stomach, having already greedily gobbled up his pie.

Cecil’s smile was wry. “Josie, down by the car lot, claims she talks to the angels. Said one of them changed a light bulb for her.”

“Of course,” said Carlos, “she also claims that they are ten feet tall. That doesn't seem structurally sound when calculating potential wing configurations.”

“She has been known to exaggerate,” Cecil allowed. He had finished his pie and was buffing his fork with a napkin. 

“Can you give us directions?” asked Sam, who felt slightly stupid when Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Are you finished at the lab for the day, dear?” asked Cecil, dabbing at an imaginary speck of pie on Carlos's chin.

“I could take a drive out there,” said Carlos. 

Just then, the waitress appeared with the check. Cecil plucked it from her hand before Dean could snatch it. “Please,” he said. “Allow me.”

 

“Waste of time, Sammy,” said Dean as they followed the noiseless electric sports car though Night Vale's darkened streets. “Going to see some batty old broad who claims she sees angels?”

Sam looked up to see one of the helicopters, which appeared to be following them. It was one of the ones with the paintings of birds all over the side. He glared at his older brother. “You're the one who wanted to spend time with your new idol.”

“Who jammed something up your ass?”

Sam sulked. “I'm fine.”

“You shoulda had some pie. Mighty good stuff.”

“Uh-huh. ‘Damn good cherry pie.’”

“I had the strawberry,” Dean countered.

Sam turned to his brother. “Dean, you can't tell me you didn't get the reference?”

Dean shrugged and turned up the stereo. “What can I say, I been away.”

Sam slumped further down in the seat. How could his pop culture maven of a brother have missed _Twin Peaks_? “If it wasn’t angels that pulled you out of hell,” Sam shouted over the wails of AC/DC, “then what the hell was it? And what broke out all the windows in our hotel room?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders and tried to act casual, meaning he was nothing of the sort. “I dunno. Some demon, I suppose.”

“The demons are shit scared of it, Dean!”

“Then it's a really big-ass demon.” 

Sam sat up again, pointing towards the sky. “What the hell is that?”

Dean craned his neck, looking out through the Impala's broad windshield. “Sale at the used car lot?” he asked as he stared at the unearthly light that shone like a spotlight over a small portion of the town up ahead. The passed a billboard urging you to “Buy or lease a pre-owned vehicle” and a good acre or two of cars that had seen better days. It reminded Sam of Bobby's place, only festooned with many sad, faded triangular orange flags flapping listlessly overhead. 

There was a small, neat house nearby: something that looked like it had been built ages ago, before the land was rezoned, but then the stubborn owners had refused to sell out while businesses sprouted up around them. Sam thought of a favorite Pixar film. As they drew closer he realized it did look like a Disney film: some of the bushes in the very neat garden had been carefully carved into topiary.

Cecil and Carlos were already out of their car by the time Dean pulled into the driveway, and Cecil was striding up to greet a small figure sitting out on the porch in a rocking chair. Carlos had opened the hatch and was withdrawing various pieces of equipment, which he began to set up in the front yard. When Sam paused to frown at all the buzzing and beeping, he simply muttered, “Uhhh, science.”

“This is Josie,” said Cecil as the brothers stepped onto the broad wooden porch. The wood squeaked beneath Sam’s shoes.

“Cecil tells me you boys are looking for angels,” she told them, after introductions had been made. “They replaced my porch light for me. I have a couple right now around back, trimming the hedges.”

“The angels are, uh, doing your gardening?” asked Dean.

Sam stifled a smile, imagining interviewing some very confused landscapers. Dean aimed a sour “told you so” glance his way, but Sam just shrugged. 

“Come along,” said Josie, grabbing her cane. Cecil offered her his arm, and she began to totter around the side of the house. “Have to keep watch over them. They love to stand around and gossip! I’ve told them, the devil has work for idle hands.”

There were indeed two men now out in Josie’s garden. It may have been all the years dealing with supernatural beings, but Sam knew from his first glance that although they superficially resembled two human men, they were definitely anything but human, and he saw that his brother realized it too. Even in the dead of night, they had a kind of a glow about them. The small hairs on Sam’s back and arms stood on end, as if there were a shallow field of static electricity. 

Oddly enough, they were not clothed like gardeners. The one man was wearing a suit and tie, and the other wore a rumpled overcoat.

Josie was one the move. “No, now I told you to move the rhododendrons farther from the house.”

The larger, balding angel put his hands on his hips and grunted in frustration. “But you told me to move it nearer!”

“Not that near,” argued Josie.

“I’ve already spent half a day relocating your damned azaleas!”

“If you’d only listen to me.”

“Dammit, woman-“

“Zachariah!” cautioned the man in the overcoat in a dark, rumbling voice.

“Castiel-“

“Josie is a prophet of the Lord, and deserves our deference,” scolded Castiel. Zachariah emitted something that sounded very close to a growl, but muttered and allowed Josie to tell him where she wanted her shrubbery.

“We have some visitors who are very interested in meeting you,” Cecil told Castiel. “This is-“

“Dean Winchester!” said Castiel, who appeared suddenly captivated by the older Winchester. “I have been meaning to speak with you.” 

Dean, who was just as nonplussed as Castiel was fascinated, cleared his throat. “Oh, uh, me?”

“I suppose you do not recall our previous meeting?” said the angel, his deep voice grown soft, his officious manner suddenly eased. 

“Previous meeting?” asked Dean.

“The blown windows?” Sam guessed, not entirely happy he was being ignored. The previous evening, when Sam had gone out to make a phone call, and Dean had lingered in their hotel room all alone, something very strange had happened: the TV, radio, and every electronic device had suddenly fired up, and then, as Dean threw himself under the bed, all the windows had simultaneously blown out. 

The manager was apologetic, as this was evidently a not uncommon occurrence in Night Vale. He had handed them keys to another, non-blown room.

Castiel reached out and gripped Dean by the shoulder, staring into his eyes. “It was you,” Dean whispered. “That was you trying to speak?”

Castiel nodded.

“You’re- You’re supposed to be an angel?” said Dean.

Castiel stepped back and smiled slightly. “Have faith, Dean,” he said. And then he closed his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, and somehow – somehow – he was not a man any more, but a winged thing, a magnificent swirl of light and faith and power – so much power. 

Sam had cringed backwards in terror, but Dean stood his ground. Cecil smiled sweetly and tilted his head as if messengers of the Lord manifested themselves every evening in some old lady’s garden. “Well, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” he said, and moved over to join Josie, who was still bickering with Zachariah about ornamental shrubs.

Castiel had somehow tucked himself back into his man suit, and now huddled very close to Dean, speaking softly. Sam felt it in his pocket: his cell phone. No one was paying any attention to him, so, muttering something about calling Bobby, he stole around the side of Josie’s house, in between a wall and the side of the house, where things were dark, and matters darker. He hit his speed dial and listened, his heart racing. But there was nothing but a recorded message on the other end. “Call me,” he whispered, hitting the screen to end the call.

“Although it is none of my business, I feel I should advise you that for your continued health as well as that of your immortal soul, you should probably cease ingesting demon blood.”

Sam jerked around at the sound of the voice, trying, badly, to cram the phone back into his pocket. “Why do you think I'm guzzling demon blood?” he asked Carlos.

The scientist counted out on his fingers. “You've been displaying classic signs of addictive withdrawal, microtremors, sweating, general agitation. In addition, you have been behaving furtively, as if you would like to conceal your behavior from your partner, who is also your sibling. According to my readings, you currently possess psychic powers beyond the capabilities of a normal human, and yet your physiology indicates that you are indeed very likely human.”

“Likely human,” muttered Sam, his voice too harsh. He was holding his own sides and trying not to shiver in the dry, cold desert air. “Yeah, that's me.”

“In addition, there is a demon envesseled in a female human body who has been haunting these parts. You needn't look surprised: Cecil makes note of such occurrences in his town.”

“His town?”

“Yes. He is quite protective, in his way.”

Sam looked the scientist up and down. Perhaps there as more to him than Sam had realized? “Is that a warning?” 

The scientist's too-thick glasses glinted in the moonlight. “If you prefer to take it as such. Perhaps a word of explanation is required. I am a newcomer here myself. At first I convinced myself that I was drawn here in order to study the many natural phenomena. But I have since made certain discoveries about myself.”

“Exactly what kind of discoveries?”

But Carlos was now looking towards the front of the house, where something was buzzing. “It will change you. If you let it,” he muttered, and strode off towards whatever was going off.

Sam stood alone for a moment. He jumped when he felt the hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon,” said Dean, who was already heading for the car. 

Sam exhaled. “You’re not gonna stay and have lemonade and discuss shrubbery with the angels?” he sniped.

“We’re goin’ for a drive.”

Puzzled, Sam climbed the passenger seat, and they pulled out. “Where are we headed?”

“Nowhere in particular,” said Dean, making his way towards one of Night Vale’s broad, straight avenues. “I gotta talk to Cas.”

“To … who?”

“The angel.”

“What, the one called Castiel? You’re buddies now? I thought you didn’t believe in angels?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Sam let out a small shriek and turned around. The angel with the overcoat was now sitting in their back seat. “What the fuck?” Sam whispered.

“Hello, Sam,” said Castiel evenly, and then those arctic sea-blue eyes stared right into his soul, and Sam shivered.

“So what’s the word, Cas?” asked Dean, who was staring up into the rear view mirror as the lights went past outside, and helicopters buzzed overhead. “Why were you so insistent on getting out of there? Allergic to azaleas or something?”

“I apologize for the inconvenience. I cannot risk being overheard, not even by Zachariah. I- I no longer know who among my brethren I may trust.”

“You don’t trust the other angels?” asked Sam. “Why not?”

“It has come to my attention that several of my brother angels are potentially involved in a conspiracy. They wish to bring on the apocalypse.”

“So, not just any apocalypse, the apocalypse, capital A?” said Sam.

“That is correct, Sam.”

“So why are you guys out planting Josie’s rhododendrons and not tracking down the assholes responsible?” asked Dean.

“Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Josie is a newly awakened prophet of the Lord, and thus merits our protection. However, we are spread thin. One of the archangels, who would usually be assigned to the party, is missing.”

Dean snorted. “Who the hell lost an archangel? Did one fall behind the couch?”

Castiel’s head drooped to the side, and his brow furrowed. “Of which couch are you speaking, Dean?” he asked solemnly.

“Never mind. So, what are you doing about it?”

“I had hoped that you could help us, Dean.”

Dean, uncharacteristically, was speechless for a time. Sam watched his brother mull this one over. “You need me?”

“That was why I raised you from perdition, Dean.”

“Wait,” said Sam. “You're the guy who grabbed Dean out of hell?”

Suddenly, Castiel was staring at him, eyes blue as truth. Sam shuddered. “Dean sold his soul that his brother would live, Sam. I pray you will make his sacrifice worthwhile.”

“All right, enough of that,” growled Dean. “How am I supposed to help you feathery dudes with the whole end of the world thing?”

Thankfully, the eyes were finally off of Sam. “It is part of a prophecy. I don't comprehend it well. Please understand, they don't tell me much. But since we have been in Night Vale, I have been in communication with Cecil Palmer, the radio host. With his facilitation, I have been able to form certain … alliances.”

“With other angels? Thought you didn't trust the bastards.”

“With certain _beings_ who hold this situation to be of interest. There are other of my father's creations who can read signs and portents.”

“Like who, specifically?”

Castiel, angel of the Lord, celestial messenger, bit his lip. Did angels get flustered? “Odin said that he-”

“Odin?” said Sam. “Seriously? Dude with the horned helmet and ravens?”

The angel in the back seat rankled. “Odin does not wear a horned helmet, Sam. That's anachronistic.”

Sam was eye-rolling and hand flapping. “Are you even listening to this, Dean?”

“What about Odin, Cas?” put in the older Winchester.

“Odin is sending a representative from his pantheon. The leader of the Norse pantheon was interested that humans be involved in this. He would like his messenger to meet with you.”

“Humans?” asked Sam.

“OK, where and when?” said Dean.

“Night Vale Community College. You will need to meet with the janitor there.”

“The what?” asked Sam.

“Night Vale CC. All right, gotcha,” said Dean.

“Hey!” said Sam. There had been a soft sound, like the rustle of raptor wings, and Castiel was gone. “Where the hell did he go?”

“I dunno,” said Dean. “Urgent angel business. Maybe somebody needed sod laid down?” He snorted as he leaned over to turn up the radio.

“Very funny.” Sam slumped down and huffed. “And why are we the humans? What about Cecil? He's human.”

“Dude's got three eyes and tatts that wiggle, Sammy.”

Sam carded distressed fingers through his hair. “You think he's a vamp?”

“Didn't come off like a vamp. Now, I'm outta practice, you got a better instinct right now, what's your take?”

Sam had to think about this one. Dean deferring to him? Seriously? “No, not a vampire. And I'm not smelling sulphur, so I doubt he's demon. In fact, it seems like something obvious, but I’m missing it.”

There was a neon sign flashing ahead, WorldTree Motel. As a helicopter flew low overhead, Dean pulled the sleek, black car into the parking lot. With all the teal and pink paint and jutting angles, the place looked like it had been preserved in a bell jar since the 1950s.

“Maybe tomorrow, I could go to the library?” Sam proposed as they exited the car. It was part offer, but partly a chance to catch some time alone, away from prying eyes.

“Sounds good. And I’ll head off to the local college to corral their custodial staff.” Dean made for the staircase, but then paused. “You coming?”

“I’m gonna, uh, grab a Coke.” 

Dean nodded and headed up the stairs. Sam headed towards the Coke machine, but then, with a surreptitious look around, instead cringed behind it, once again pulling out his cell phone. He dialed into his voice mail. “Sam, sorry,” came a familiar female voice. _“I’ve been driving in circles for fucking ever! What’s up with the streets in this ville? No matter how I turn, I get dumped on route 800 going outta town. Sucks. Anyway, I’m gonna find a place to crash for the night. Catch you laters.”_

Sam cursed and hit the call back button, but unfortunately for him, his phone chose that precise instant to suddenly transform into a rather large scarab beetle. Surprised, he dropped it, and it scurried off into the shadowy recesses below the vending machine. Sam crouched down and peeked underneath, and confronted a pair of small, yellowy eyes glaring back. 

He stood up, sighed, and, remembering what he’d told Dean, deposited some coins in the vending machine. For some odd reason, it was stocked with nothing but orange soda. He shrugged and guzzled a bit, coughing at the acidic taste, and then he headed up the slatted stairs to their room.

 

“We are not allowed, of course, to know about the tiered heavens here,” said Cecil, grabbing a book from one of the many interns who bustled around the station. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Sure!” said Dean. “Black, please.” The intern nodded and scurried away. When things hadn’t panned out at the college (Dean had ended up talking with a smooth stone who turned out to be a real jerk), and Sammy hadn’t been answering his voice mail messages (kid probably got wrapped up in his research again, or maybe he'd been kidnapped and taken away by one of those creepy helicopters) Dean had taken a drive down to the community radio station. It had been a good call. Cecil had been finishing up his program, so Dean had feasted on little roast beef sandwiches in the break room (after Cecil warned him away from the bottomless pit, of course). And Cecil, despite denying knowledge of pretty much anything, turned out to be a veritable font. If in fact Dean had used expressions like “veritable font.”

“Did you know Ophanim are reputed by the Christians to be literally spinning wheels covered in all-seeing eyes?” asked Cecil, opening a dusty volume and passing it over to Dean. The woodcut showed drawings of things that looked like wagon wheels with eyes.

“What are these for?” asked Dean, hoping it was not a stupid question.

“Oh, you know, they spin around his throne singing, ‘Holy holy holy,’ or some such. Bit of an egoist, if you want my opinion. Half of His creatures basically constitute a sort of celestial fan club. 

“Cas says they’re missing an archangel.”

“Ah, the angel Castiel. A seraph. Very powerful classification. He is reputed to be a good and brave soldier. Highly ranked, though not as high as could be. Not much of a political player, which is what is needed to move to the very top of the ranks.”

Dean accepted a cup of coffee from the intern. “Wait, angels play politics?” He sipped his coffee. It was excellent.

“They are political. They do not play,” said Cecil, who was occupying himself sifting sugar and cream into his cup. He looked a little more subdued than last night, wearing a conservative vest and tie. The third eye, behind his bangs, could have been a tattoo: it now resembled a few parallel lines traced across his forehead. 

“How do you lose an archangel?” asked Dean.

Cecil extended a hand, and an intern placed a book there. He was really graceful, this guy, like a dancer or something. “Many say there are seven archangels, although the exact names differ. I suspect He demotes them when they start to bore Him. Here are some of the more common names: Michael, Raphael, Raguel, Raziel, Zachariah-“

“Wait, Zachariah? Wasn’t that the dude Josie had painting her roses red?” asked Dean.

“Mmm, yes.”

“It sounded like he’s now working for Cas.”

“Yes, must be quite a comedown, mustn’t it?”

Dean reached for another roast beef sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully. “Does Cas know?”

“I'm so sorry, I'm not following,” said Cecil.

“That Zachariah is one of the conspirators.”

Cecil was on his feet. “Will you look at the time? I had promised Carlos I wouldn’t be late today.”

“Cecil-“ But the genial radio host was already waving goodbye and leaving the break room as Dean was left holding a sandwich.

 

Sam awoke, blinking and groggy, his face mashed into the carpet.

He sat up, nursing a crick in his neck, and looked around, confused. 

He was sitting in an aisle between two high rows of bookshelves. He leaned over and pulled out a book. It was a biography of Sean Penn, with markings for the Night Vale community library. The library? How the hell had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered, he had been drowsing in the motel room bed. Dean had been grousing at him to get an early start and don’t sleep in the whole damned day like you did before, and then, as a last word, had given the motel room door a hearty slam on the way out.

Sam grunted and got to his feet. Had he blacked out, and maybe fainted? He rubbed his head, but didn't feel any bumps. He was definitely hungry. And that other ache: he needed to see her. His hand fumbled for his phone, but then he remembered. 

He pulled out another random book and was annoyed to see it was yet another Sean Penn bio. He sighed, shoved it back, and decided he might as well try to do some research as long as he was here. Still rubbing his head, he walked between the aisles towards what he thought was the main section.

That's when he heard it: a low, guttural growl. He spun around.

There were claws. And coils of tentacles. Teeth, of the sharp and pointed variety. And eyes: so many eyes.

And then he was running. His heart pounding in his chest from fear more than exertion, he rounded the bookshelves and found yet more bookshelves. He turned, dashing down another aisle, and yet another, but the fucking place was like a labyrinth. He heard the heavy breathing in back of him, and knew he was being pursued. Why hadn’t he brought along a gun, or at least a knife? 

There was a hissing, and he skidded to a halt. How the hell had it gotten in front of him? He spun around, only to discover there were two of them. Trapped. 

_No_ , he heard a voice in his head telling him. _You can fight!_ He stood still, trying to calm down. With a fierce concentration, he raised his hands, one towards each of the creatures. It would be like exorcising a demon, he just needed to get into their minds. 

He stilled himself and reached out. There was a blackness around him: something he recognized. His confidence returning, he tried stretching out with his mind powers, just a little more, trying to get a grip around them, whatever they were. The creatures stilled, this hissing silenced. You needed to reach in deep an yank out the dark consciousness. He had done it before. He felt himself surrounding them, touching the centers, ready to draw them out and extinguish them.

He pulled. In his mind, he reached in and pulled.

And … it was like getting hit with a freight train. So much blackness, shadows within shadows, reaching down and down and down. He wasn't pulling them out, they were pulling him in, and he was falling, down and down, tumbling end over end....

With a gasp, he wrenched back, stumbling back against the bookcase, knocking biographies here and there. There was hissing and fretting around him, and the coil of tentacles, ready to strike.

Desperate, his heart pounding in his chest, Sam leapt up and began climbing up the high bookshelves, hoping against hope the wretched creatures wouldn’t follow him, or at least he’d have a chance to figure out something. Madly he climbed, kicking the useless biographies out of place, scrambling to the top of the heavy wooden bookcase. He stood up on the top and looked around. There were the two on his aisle, but as he looked around, there was more movement, and rustling in the shadows. How many of them were there?

And then the flicking near his feet, as a single tentacle slithered up to the top of the shelf. He drew back and gazed up. The next bookshelf was too far away to jump, but maybe if he grabbed a light fixture. Would it hold his weight?

He heard the hiss, saw the flick of more scaly tentacles, and suddenly, he didn’t care. He raced to the end of the bookshelf and jumped with all his might, grabbing onto the light, gripping with two hands like some kind of trapeze artist. There, he had it. He swung, and heard the creak.

And then he heard metal snap. The rivets! Dammit!

He barely had time to scream.

 

Dean glared at his phone. Sam’s number was still going straight to voice mail. Damned kid was probably sleeping it off again. Whatever the hell “it” was. Dean had his suspicions, but he also knew when it came to his little brother, it was better to wait it out than give him the fifth degree. 

He scrolled down his list of phone numbers and paused. How the hell had that number gotten in his book? Was it some kind of a joke? He shrugged, and then hit the speed dial, amazed when it picked up. “Hey, Cas?” he said.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean spun around. Castiel, angel of the Lord, was now standing right in back of him. And he was holding a cell phone to his celestial ear.

Dean lowered his own phone. “You’ve got a cell phone?”

“Yes,” said Cas, who kept the phone to his own ear. “But from your tone, this sounded urgent.”

Dean smiled and pocketed his phone, and then grabbed Cas’s phone and hit the end call button for him. “Well, um, not exactly urgent, but I appreciate the service.”

Cas smiled. He was standing way too close, but Dean supposed that was some kind of weird angel thing. He didn’t really mind. It sounded stupid, and Dean would never say this, but Cas smelled really nice, like fresh sea air and wind and just a touch of cinnamon. Dean found his mind drifting to thoughts about the wings he’d halfway glanced last night, and whether they felt nice and soft, like a really warm feather bed.

“I’m very glad you called,” Cas said, and Dean thought he’d done the right thing making that call. “I need your help.” And then Cas put two fingers up on Dean’s forehead, and the world was ripped from beneath his feet.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam stood out in the sunlight, gasping and trembling. 

“Loki’d!” came a happy shout.

Suddenly, despite his very improbable escape from the Night Vale Public Library and whatever tentacled nightmares had been pursuing him, every muscle in Sam’s body was tense once again. “You!” he exclaimed to the short, golden-eyed man standing triumphantly before him. 

“Me!” said the Trickster, giving a bow.

Sam lurched from terror to homicidal rage. “You!” he seethed. “You- You killed Dean! You complete asshole!” The Trickster had once held Sam in a time loop for several months during which each and every day finished with his brother's untimely (albeit often hilarious) death. The mischievous god had finally released them from the loop, only to let Dean die the next morning. The Trickster had only restored Dean to life after Sam spent several additional months tracking him down and then attempted to murder him. It was not, all things considered, a fond memory for the younger Winchester.

The small man bristled. “Hey, I brought him back, didn’t I? Couldn’t resist those little puppy dog eyes of yours. We’re square.”

Sam glared. “You and I – we – will _never_ be square.”

The Trickster rolled his eyes. “Sammy! No gratitude at all for rescuing your sorry though well-formed ass from those Librarians?”

“Was that what those things were?” growled Sam, annoyed that his curiosity was preventing him from disemboweling the Trickster.

“Nasty piece of work, huh?” The Trickster sounded envious.

“Is that something _you_ came up with?”

“Naw, sadly, I can’t claim credit. Those babies are actually older than me. Not much in this universe that can claim something like that.” The Trickster pointed over Sam’s shoulder. “That’s why no exits on this place.”

Sam turned around and gazed at the library building. For once, the Trickster wasn’t lying: the Night Vale Public Library was housed in an impressive structure that had neither doors nor windows. “So what are you doing here in Night Vale?” Sam demanded. “You sure as hell didn’t show up to pull me out of the library!”

The Trickster smiled his mocking smile. “Naw, that was just an extra added service. I like you, kiddo! But I got orders from the boss. The All Father sent me!” He puffed his small chest with genuine pride.

Sam stood in wonder, harking back to his knowledge of Norse mythology. “You’re saying _Odin_ sent you?”

“Yep, Pantheon official business. Means I can expense dinner, ha!”

“What business?”

“There’s ugly rumors going around about apocalypse. You ask me, Odin’s got Ragnaroks in the head.” He knocked on his own head with his fist to demonstrate.

Sam thought back to the angel Castiel's comments the previous night. The alliances he had spoken of included the Trickster? Sam heaved a sigh. “The apocalypse?” he asked.

“It’s probably just a bunch of hooey, but the big boss is not too keen on the end of the world thing. Guy’s remarried and settled down these days, with a bunch of squalling brats, the whole nine yards.”

“Odin is remarried?” Was Odin married in the first place? Sam searched his memories. He recalled tales of a bunch of demigod sons, but he needed access to his mythology class notes. “Did he marry one of the goddesses?” All right, it was a dumb question, but it had been a weird morning.

“No. Ex-archangel actually. She got a little annoyed at all the angel politics and sort of defected.”

“Angel politics?”

“Yeah, these days, you can’t strum a damn harp without getting everything stamped in triplicate. Very annoying.” But then, to Sam’s surprise and delight, the Trickster jumped and emitted a small cry.

“Good morning, Loki,” said Carlos the scientist, who had just patted him on the back.

“How the hell did you sneak up on me like that?” groused the Trickster.

Carlos waved a hand at his stylish hybrid coupe, which was parked nearby. “My vehicle is not only energy efficient, it is virtually noiseless.”

“You knew I was here?” asked the Trickster.

Carlos looked smug as well as dashingly handsome. “My improbability meter was off the scale, so I concluded that you were nearby. I simply needed to track down the source of the anomaly,” he calmly explained, lab coat and teeth both shining white in the hot desert sun. “At any rate, I am not here for personal reasons. I felt in need of your expertise. Both of you.”

“What’s up, Carlos?” asked Sam, as the scientist looked concerned.

“Time is running out!”

 

“This is your sister’s house?” Dean asked, looking up and giving a low whistle at the frankly impressive residence as they came up the walkway. He guessed this was something you could call a mansion, or maybe even a palace. It was off on its own up here in the mountains. He wasn’t quite sure where the angel had yanked him to, though the ride had been like nothing he’d ever experienced. He wondered where the hell Cas tucked the wings when he wasn’t using them: the trench coat was a little baggy, but not nearly big enough to fit those babies.

“I suppose you could say, she married well?” said Cas. 

Dean pointed back down the pathway, towards the glittering rainbow bridge he and Castiel had just crossed. “Um, that’s pretty impressive too.”

“Bifrost? Yes, that is the burning rainbow bridge between realms.”

“Oh, uh, OK. Burning rainbow. Kinda reminded me of My Little Pony, but that works.”

“Ponies? Yes, in fact they are great fans of horses up here!” said Castiel, who was up on the stoop, ringing the doorbell. 

The door was opened almost immediately by a short, pale-skinned, dark-haired woman tottering around on ridiculously high heels. 

“Oh, Castiel! How nice to see you, little brother!” she gushed. She went up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek. “And who is this?” she asked of Dean. “My, aren’t you a doll?”

Dean blushed.

“Raziel, may I present Dean Winchester,” said Castiel. “I am given to understand that he specializes in this kind of thing.”

“Welcome, Dean!” she sang. Dean reached out to shake hands, but was immediately pulled down for a continental-style air-kiss. The chick was tiny, maybe 5’2” in heels, but she was strong as hell. _Cas’s sister_ , Dean thought. _Oh!_ There weren’t any wings, but he guessed the angels hid them somehow when they weren’t flying somewhere.

She ushered them into the entryway. The place was palatial: the ceilings must have been twelve feet high. The sound of fussing came over a baby monitor. “Oh, that’s Jack. He must’ve woken up again. Will you boys excuse me a moment?” She tottered off. 

Dean had a chance to look around. The place was tastefully decorated, with a lot of stuff that looked Scandinavian. His eyes were drawn to some really cool swords hanging up on the walls. “Cas,” whispered Dean as he leaned over to peer at a gorgeous katana blade. “Your sister is an angel too?”

“Archangel,” said Castiel. “Actually.”

This gave Dean pause. “Wait, didn’t you just say you guys were one arch short of a legion?”

“Um, well, Raziel is not exactly … _missing_ ,” said Castiel. “She actually resigned. In a manner of speaking.”

Raziel returned, bouncing a tiny infant. Its hair was jet-black, like the mother’s, but when it blinked Dean noticed it had the most striking sky-blue eyes he had ever seen. It wasn’t the same as the blue of Cas’s eyes, which were more like rare jewels. 

And then Dean wondered why the hell he’d been thinking so hard about Cas’s eyes, since that sounded slightly weird.

“Now, Jack, calm down. We’ll take care of it.” She looked apologetic. “You see, usually I wouldn’t bother with stuff like this, but the noise keeps waking the baby.” 

“What noise?” asked Dean.

As if in answer, there was a thump accompanied by a most unearthly howl. Dean shivered.

“There’s something in the basement,” said Raziel. “I’m sure the kids dragged it in, they’re always bringing stuff like that home.” 

“Can we take a look?” asked Dean.

“All right, but watch your head!” Raziel warned. “Whatever it is, it’s not exactly friendly.”

Dean smiled, exuding confidence. “Like Cas says, I’m kind of an expert on this sort of stuff,” he assured her, puffing his chest. The archangel chick might be a mom with kids, but she was not by any means what you could call ugly. Plus he didn't want to disappoint Cas. Because, well, he just didn't. 

Raziel shrugged and led them down a wide corridor. The moaning and thumping and chain-rattling and general commotion seemed to grow louder as they approached. “This leads to the basement,” she told them, indicating a closed door. She patted the fussing baby on the back.

“All right, you step back now, ma’am,” said Dean officiously as Cas looked on, seemingly intrigued. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” The noises had silenced, so Dean leaned up against the door, pressing his ear onto it. Hearing nothing on the other side, he stepped back, and, keeping his back pressed to the wall, carefully twisted the door handle, and then slipped the door open a crack.

There was silence. 

Dean edged the door open a little more. And then he slowly leaned forward and peeked around the partially opened doorway.

Dean gasped and hit the floor just as an object flew by, exactly where his head had been, and smashed on the wall behind him. There was an evil laugh from down below, and Raziel slammed the basement door shut just before something else smashed against it.

“Uh,” said Dean, who was still down on the floor. “From the looks of things, I think you got yourself an angry spirit. Um, of whatever the hell that was. I mean, when it was alive.”

“Oh, I’m totally sure it’s something the kids brought in,” said Raziel. “Hang on to Jack, will you, Castiel? I’ll go round them up. KIDS!” she bellowed, tottering off.

Castiel held baby Jack as if he were a poisonous alien life form. His eyes read sheer terror. The baby, which had quieted down a little, began to howl once again.

“Cas, that ain’t the way you hold a kid, come here,” said Dean. The angel gratefully handed over the baby. “There ya go, little guy,” said Dean, giving Jack a little pat and gently rocking him. The baby suddenly gave an outsized burp. It sounded something like the bellow of a rutting moose. “OK, uh, tummy trouble,” asked Dean. Jack smiled and gurgled in a much more baby-like manner in response. “They get fussy when they need to burp,” Dean told Cas, who was looking much more impressed at this interaction than he had Dean’s pursuit of the restless spirit.

“Who’s a big guy?” asked Dean, holding the baby in the air. He was rewarded by some very cute giggles. “Who’s a big guy?” As if in response, young Jack gurgled and smiled and extended a little pair of black, feathery wings.

“Uhhhh,” said Dean, bringing the infant back to his chest. “Cas,” he whispered. 

“Yes, Dean?”

“Uh, did you happen to notice that your sister’s baby has bat wings?”

Castiel closely regarded Jack. “They seem more akin to the wings of avians, Dean. Although they are, in actuality, a form of angel wings.”

“Angel wings?”

“The baby is, after all, half angel.”

“Half-angel baby. All right. And half … what exactly?” But Dean’s question, for the present time, went unanswered, as he suddenly heard not an unearthly howl nor an ungodly loud belch but rather the pitter patter of little feet.

Oddly enough, the noise came from up on the ceiling, where now stood two small children: a raven-haired girl and a redheaded boy. They both had the same striking sky-blue eyes as the baby.

“All right, kids, quit horsing around,” scolded Raziel, who had just tottered back into the room. She pointed to the floor. “Get down here, pronto!”

The two children glanced at one another and then walked along the ceiling, down the wall, and onto the floor as if it was an everyday occurrence. Dean wasn't terribly disturbed by it all: he had probably been in Night Vale too long. 

“Which one of you brought that into the house?” Raziel demanded, jabbing a perfectly manicured thumb towards the basement door.

The two regarded each other, blinked, and then, as one, pointed accusing fingers at one another. Raziel sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Here, let me,” said Dean, sticking the winged baby with Cas, and hunkering down to be at eye level with the now grounded twins. Weird, yes, but kids were kids. “And I’m talking to…?” he asked.

“This is Abby and Liam,” Raziel told him.

“All right, Abby, Liam: that thing you got in the basement is unhappy. You guys know why it’s unhappy?”

Two sets of blue eyes widened, and two heads shook.

“Well, right now, it’s stuck between worlds. It’s supposed to be dead, but it didn’t make it over. So it’s all pissed off. And now he’s kicking up a fuss and waking up your little brother. You follow me?”

Two serious head nods.

“OK, so what we probably gotta do to set things right, we gotta find the body, and we gotta deal with it in a real special way.” Dean frowned. “Now, you guys got _any idea_ where it might be?”

There was an exchange of glances. “It was deaded!” babbled Liam.

“We saw it and it was dead and it was gross so we went and took a look!” his sister added breathlessly. 

“You guys have been poking at yucky dead things?” asked Raziel, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah!” the twins enthused.

“Yeah, dead things are pretty cool, huh?” asked Dean. 

“They was wotten!” lisped Liam.

“And it was all big an’ feathery an’ kinda stinky,” said Abby.

“Like a stinky man bird.”

“Like a stinky bird man!”

“Can you take me?” asked Dean.

“Yes!” they chorused, each grabbing a hand. Dean grunted. The kids were almost as strong as the mom. 

“All right, can you guys just show them where the … thing is?” asked Raziel, plucking baby Jack from a very relieved Castiel.

“All right,” said Abby.

“Can we burp Jack?” asked Liam.

“Already done,” said Dean. “And we’ll need gasoline and salt if you have it,” he told Raziel. He turned to the toddlers. “All right guys, we’re gonna go look at dead stuff!”

 

“One of my first significant observations pertaining to Night Vale was the anomalous timestream in this vicinity. To be brief, time passes more slowly here than elsewhere,” Carlos explained as he drove through Night Vale’s often chaotic streets. Intersections had gotten more difficult since the traffic lights had all flown south for the winter. But, as Sam and Dean had noticed when they were driving around, there were also streets that went nowhere, cars that didn't seem to have any drivers, routes diverted by jellyfish migrations, feral dogs roaming the streets, and just about any other traffic hazard you could imagine.

“Slowed time? That’s the same as hell,” said Sam. He was sitting in the passenger seat while the Trickster had been confined to Carlos's somewhat cramped back seat. “Dean was down there four months, but he says it was more like 40 years.”

Carlos nodded, and nearly escaped being sideswiped by a semi with the Strex Corp Synernist Inc. logo splashed across the side, although he didn’t appear fazed by it. 

“Do you think it’s related?” Sam asked.

“I wouldn’t … discount that possibility,” said Carlos, who seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “At any rate, I soon discovered that none of the timepieces in Night Vale possess any mechanism, or indeed any moving parts. Some of them….” He shuddered. “Well, let us say, the clocks here appear to run on a form of magic energy. And as to what appears to be the center of it all….”

The executed a quick turn and pulled into the vacant lot behind the Ralphs. There were a lot of people milling around. “This is the Night Vale clock tower,” Carlos explained, indicating the structure now standing in the middle of the field. “There are a few anomalies which you might observe.”

“Your back seat is uncomfortable as hell,” grumbled Loki as he climbed out of the car. “That’s anomaly enough for me.”

“First, the tower is usually invisible, and is constantly teleporting,” Carlos explained. “Therefore, its stationary, visible aspect is troubling.”

“The clock tower is acting normal, and that’s weird,” said Sam. “Yeah, Night Vale.” The structure was a strange and it somehow made Sam feel uneasy: the lines and angles of the thing just didn't look like it had been constructed by humans, but more like it had been unfolded from some alien sphere. The clock itself was very intricate in design, with gears within gears within gears. It appeared that besides hours, minutes and seconds, it also kept track of the rotation of the planets, as well as the phases of the moon, and many other, more arcane cycles. The face carried not just numbers, but sigils and arcane symbols, which also looked alien in design.

“If you look closely, you can observe yet another puzzle,” Carlos was saying.

“So help me,” said Loki, “if little dolls come out and it starts playing the It’s a Small World theme, I’m gonna puke.”

“Hey, the second hand is going around backwards,” said Sam. He hadn't noticed at first, as there was so much happening on the clock face. “What do you think that means, Carlos?”

“Means the gears are outta whack,” said the Trickster, who was still stretching and cracking his back.

“I believe it has significance,” said Carlos, who was, as usual, consulting a weird-looking meter. “Note that the hour is now two am. That means, given the hands circulate at their median speed, albeit backwards, we have approximately two hours until the clock strikes midnight. For for this town, and this particular clock, that does not bode well. Cecil hasn't told me everything he knows about the clock tower, but my best scientific hypothesis is that midnight portends, well....” Carlos trailed off.

“Fuck!” said Loki. “Two hours until the apocalypse?”

“That is correct,” said Carlos. “Furthermore-”

“It's the tiny people!” called an excited-looking man. 

Carlos, who was usually so unflappable, suddenly appeared exasperated. “Teddy, for the last time, it's not the people under lane five of your bowling alley.”

Teddy stood up straight, as if he felt insulted. “First of all, Carlos, they weren't under the _lane_ , they were underneath the pin retrieval area! Get your facts straight. Secondly, seeing as I'm the manager of a bowling alley, I am therefore an expert on time/space paradoxes. And I say, it was the tiny people!”

Carlos made a big deal out of sighing. “Teddy, can you please stop being irrational!”

“Why don't you get to the bottom of it then, science guy?” the bowling titan taunted.

“We're- We're working on it!” Carlos told him, somewhat lamely.

The Trickster grabbed Carlos's arm. “Wait, tiny people? Like fairies?”

Carlos turned, looking thoughtful. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact. That is a possibility.”

The Trickster looked at Sam. “Fairies are master watch makers,” said Sam. The Trickster nodded.

 

Dean was warming his hands over the pyre. The carcass was.... Well, whatever the hell it had been, it was bigger than he'd expected, like the size of a full-grown man. Weird thing was it had feathers over part of its body, and was beaked, like it had been some kind of bird. A huge fucking thing, like maybe a bird of prey? Dean needed to ask his brother, the nerd would probably know. 

They were now also accompanied by two incredibly huge beasts Dean had at first taken for dogs. After Dean had nearly suffered cardiac arrest (as his hellhound memories were still fresh), Raziel had explained that they were in fact her husband's pet wolves, and were actually quite mild-tempered unless you were something called a jötunn. Or maybe a squirrel, she allowed.

After the evil twins had led them here to the body, Cas had zapped out a can of gas and some bags of rock salt from the home, and they'd built a pyre from dried twigs and set the carcass afire. Now they were waiting to hear from Raziel on whether things had quieted down in the basement. Meanwhile, the kids were roasting marshmallows. Probably wasn't in the best of taste, but Dean didn't care. He was just about ready to ask Cas to zap back to the house and round up some chocolate bars and graham crackers so they could make corpse s'mores (Sam would probably have a fit, but hey, Mr. Whiney Pants was probably still sleeping in) when Raziel appeared again, holding baby Jack and chattering into a cell phone.

“Yes, dear, Castiel's hunter is taking care of it. Dinner? Oh, yes, please invite Cecil and Carlos along, they're such dears. Baldr? Well, we'll have to deal with it I suppose. Hmm? Why, I don't know, let me ask.” She lowered the phone. “Are you staying for dinner, Castiel?”

“As you know, sister, I don't require food,” Cas told her. It was a little awkward, as he was currently had a mouthful of sticky toasted marshmallow, and had to speak around it.

“Yes, but we haven't seen you in so long, little brother. Is that a yes?”

Cas’s brow was creased with worry. “Uh, yes, then, sister.”

“Excellent! All right, you and Dean should be here at eight.”

“Oh,” said Dean, who had no idea he would be sucked into the invitation. It crossed his mind for a fraction of a second to decline, but then he had a better idea, given that dinner meant free food (which was always the best kind). “Hey, uh, Raz? I don't wanna be rude.”

She lowered the phone once again. “Nonsense, dear. What is it?”

“Would it be all right if my brother comes along too? We travel around together.”

Raziel stared, dark eyes wide. “You mean there are more where you come from?” She broke into a grin. “How delightful! Yes, bring along your no doubt equally attractive brother.” She started to talk into the phone, but then paused once again. “Is there just one brother then?”

“Uh, that's all I got.”

She arched a well-plucked eyebrow. “Not maybe a cousin or two?”

“Uhhh, not that I know of. Sorry, Ma'am.”

“Just Raz is fine,” she laughed. She began to chatter in the phone again. “Yes, Castiel is coming with his little friend Dean and Dean's brother. All right, see you then.”

“So how are things in the basement?” Dean asked, poking a stick in the ashes. “There's not much left here. We're mostly just down to burning wood.”

“I was just coming to tell you,” Raziel told him. “We heard a screech, and then got a whiff that smelled something like fresh oranges, and something like corn flakes, and when I opened the door, it was completely empty. And quiet, right Jack?” The baby gurgled his agreement.

“Hey, good news.”

“By the way, I hope you won't find it too boring to hear my husband go on about the apocalypse. It's his current obsession.” Raziel smiled and, giving the baby a kiss on the head, tottered off.

“Apocalypse,” whispered Dean. “Hey, Cas, that reminds me.” Cas tilted his head. “I dunno how to bring this up with you, but you know, Zachariah, the dude in Josie's back yard?”

Castiel bit his lip, looking downcast. 

“He was an archangel?” Dean prompted.

Castiel had turned his back to Dean and took a while to reply. “He remains an archangel. But he was reduced in rank. He is, at least for the time being, reporting to me.”

“But archangels are the badasses?”

Castiel paused, looking over his shoulder. “His posterior has nothing to do with this Dean,” he said, appearing scandalized.

“I meant-” Dean stopped to laugh. “I meant they're powerful dudes?”

“Archangels are heaven's most terrifying weapon, Dean. They are absolute; they are furious. They are His will incarnate.”

“How did Zach get busted down in rank?”

“I was not privy to that knowledge. But there are whispers that some remain loyal to Lucifer, our brother who fell and is currently imprisoned down in hell. Perhaps it was thought that Zachariah was one such?”

“And you think Zach was sore about it?” Dean persisted. “Getting demoted like that?”

Castiel took a long time to answer, and when he finally did, his voice was barely above a whisper. “If you are asking whether I fully trust my brother.... I'm afraid I've begun to have my doubts.”

“Yeah, that must be tough, having a brother you can't trust.”

 

“See, I told you!” the grinning Trickster told Sam. After an unfortunate encounter with fairies earlier in his career as a hunter, Sam didn't particularly trust the species, but he knew that they were reputed to be master watch makers.

Carlos, for his part, stared up at the clock tower, looked back down at his meter, and then looked back up at the clock tower. “You seem to have done it.”

“It's the tiny people! I was right!” declared Teddy Williams, bowling alley proprietor and expert on time/space paradoxes.

Carlos glared over his chunky glasses, his eyes narrowed to dark, angry points.

As it turned out, Teddy had delivered an entire ball bag full of fairies (he had been keeping them in on a high shelf in back of the Desert Flower in case of emergency) and the Trickster had set them to work fixing the clock tower. They had at first demanded every firstborn child in the town in return, but Loki had managed to talk them into collecting the recycling instead, as it turned out they were very fond of aluminum cans.

As it had turned out, like many of the timepieces in Night Vale, the clock tower had no actual working parts, so it had been a trick to figure out the mechanism of action. Instead of mechanics, the inside had been found to be stuffed with many, many boxes of breakfast cereal.

“So what exactly is this stuff?” inquired Loki, who grabbed some cereal out of the box and stuffed it in his mouth. 

“Flaky-Os,” Carlos told him. “They are produced locally, using imaginary corn that John Peters – you know, the farmer – grows for the tax incentive. The marketing department was in some trouble a while back as they had unleashed a sentient pyramid on the town to advertise their product.”

“Weird, dude,” commented the Trickster.

“So, while the hands are stopped, is the countdown to Doomsday stopped as well?” asked Sam.

“According to my reading, yes, stopping the clock has temporarily stopped whatever process was in place to facilitate an apocalyptic event. But I suspect this is only a temporary measure. Cecil hasn't told me everything about the Night Vale clock tower, but I suspect there is a reason why the original makers thought it best to keep it invisible and constantly on the move. Excuse me, please!” he added as his cell phone rang. “Hello, Cecil. Yes, as it turns out, I will have time for dinner tonight, however, I may have to excuse myself early....” He strolled a few steps away.

“Who do you think sabotaged the clock?” asked Sam. 

“Maybe it's another stunt from the nutty cereal company,” said Loki, crunching a handful of cereal. He bit down on something hard. “Ouch!” He drew it out of his mouth a plastic-wrapped toy. 

“I think you tried to eat the cereal prize,” laughed Sam. 

Loki tore open the plastic envelope around the toy. “Hey, maybe it's a lightsaber pen or something cool. What the hell?” It was a little plastic bird, which now had the Trickster's tooth mark on its belly. “A plastic bird?”

“A little plastic turd? Are you sure it's plastic?” asked Sam.

“ _Bird_ , numbskull,” grumbled the Trickster, rubbing his sore tooth.

Carlos had returned. “Hey, Carlos,” said Sam. “You mind if I borrow your cell phone? Mine kind of … crawled under a vending machine and I can't reach it.”

“It's a continuing hazard of living in Night Vale,” said the scientist, handing over his phone. “I find it's useful to have mine protected by someone who knows a little dark magic. Although that can adversely affect your long distance bill.”

“Er, thanks,” said Sam, who hurried out of earshot. With trembling fingers, he typed in a familiar phone number. “Hey,” he said. “It's me. I kind of lost my phone. So, I've been thinking.... You're still unable to get into town? I was gonna grab a car and meet you outside city limits. Where are you staying? OK. Yeah, I'm sure I'll be able to leave. No, wait for me there, I'll be right there. Promise!” 

He hung up and handed the phone back to Carlos, who barely acknowledged him, as he was arguing with Teddy Williams. Sam wasn't quite sure where the Trickster had gotten to, as he wasn't around.

He was going to make his excuses to Carlos when suddenly he heard the soft sound of wings and he was yanked off his feet.

 

_Listeners, the City Council is urging you to ignore our clock tower, which has mysteriously ceased eternally teleporting and has inexplicably turned from invisible to visible, and has further evidently landed in the vacant lot behind the Ralphs, much to the dismay of bargain-hunters there for the grocery store's bi-weekly half-off sale. But the way, listeners, is bi-weekly twice a week, or once every two weeks? I never could remember._

_The clock is currently stalled at counting down two hours to midnight – some would say, the time until our doom! But our civic leaders have urged all citizens to ignore our impending demise and continue to spend freely. Remember, denial is not just a river in Egypt! It's also a river that runs through our Harborfront Recreation Center, but only during that time/space vortex back in April._

_Now, here with more information regarding the potential apocalypse and after-Ragnarok sale, is a genuine Norse god, the Trickster himself, Loki._

“What am I doing here?” asked the Trickster, rubbing his head and looking around Cecil's recording booth. “I don't remember coming to this radio station.”

“It's actually a very common occurrence in our town,” Cecil told him affably. “Would you care for some coffee?” An intern hovered nearby.

“I guess so, yeah.” The intern scurried away. “Uh, you don't have cookies do you?”

“Why, we've just gotten our order of Eternal Scout cookies, as a matter of fact!” Cecil an armload of cardboard boxes out of his bottom desk drawer. “Would you care for some Cruel Macaroons, or Waxy Lemon Biscuits?”

Loki pointed to a box. “Uh, how about the Choco-splosions?”

All three of Cecil’s violet-hued eyes lit up. “All right, but be wary, they do tend to be, as the box claims, a burst of flavor!”

“Cool!” Loki bit into one and was thrilled to burp out a small, bright green fireworks explosion. Cecil did likewise, and breathed out pink sparkles. “Oh, man, I need more of these! Where can I find an Eternal Scout?” asked the Trickster.

“I will contact our late scoutmaster through the station oracle,” said Cecil. “And put your name down on the eternal order form. We will need a blood sample, and the names of your next of kin.”

“Hrm,” said Loki, gobbling another cookie and burping more fireworks.

“Listeners, don't be alarmed at the noise, it's simply my guest and I eating our Eternal Scout cookies.” The intern bustled back in carrying two Night Vale Community Radio mugs full of coffee.

“You got cream and sugar?” asked Loki. “My mouth is a little dry.”

“So,” said Cecil, pouring cream from a silver pitcher into the Trickster's coffee, “what can you tell our listeners about the upcoming end of days?”

“Well, not much,” Loki admitted. “My boss sent me out here to investigate, but we get signs and portents all the time.”

“What do you think about the clock tower?”

“Dude, what is up with your clocks? I mean, don't they usually have moving parts instead of breakfast cereal?”

“As my boyfriend, Carlos, has ascertained, the timestream functions differently in this part of the world,” Cecil explained. “The clock tower is an important nexus for this anomaly, in ways I am not authorized to disclose at the present time.”

“Well, I chipped a tooth on a cereal prize,” said Loki, flipping a plastic toy over to Cecil, who held it up.

“Listeners, our guest has just given me the plastic effigy of a quail.”

Loki quit eating for a moment and leaned forward. “Wait, how can you tell it's a quail?”

“It's not obvious?” asked Cecil. He smiled. 

Loki wondered if his head was playing tricks: were Cecil's teeth slightly pointed? “A pyramid and a quail,” he muttered.

“Tooth and quail,” said Cecil, admiring the dent in the toy before he tossed it aside. “And, to what do you attribute the appearance of certain gods or goddesses whose primary function is war and destruction?”

“Which gods and goddesses are you talking about?” asked the Trickster, leaning forward.

“Oh, nothing,” said Cecil. “And now, we take you to, the weather!”

 

“So, which one Sammy?” said Dean.

Sam shook his head, completely disoriented. “What?”

Dean held up two neckties, one green and one blue. “Which one?”

Sam blinked around blearily. _Teleported twice in one day?_ he thought. _Seriously?_ Night Vale was gonna kill him.

But he was unsure whether they were still in Night Vale. They were actually inside what looked like a really fancy walk in closet. Dean was there, dressed halfway in a new suit, as was Castiel, the trench coat-clad angel who'd been digging up Josie's garden the last night. “Uh, sorry, but where the fuck am I?”

“I got us invited to dinner, Sammy! But then I found out it's _a thing_.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, a thing. And I didn't think you'd brought along anything … appropriate.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, am I dreaming or did I actually hear the word 'appropriate' come out of your mouth?”

“Lady Raz dresses for dinner!” enthused Dean.

“Lady … what?”

“Lady Raziel is my sister,” Castiel explained. 

“Yeah, his sister is a lady,” said Dean. “I mean, a real Lady, like capital L.”

“I'm no lady,” said a small, dark-haired woman who was walking around on six-inch heels toting a baby. “Oh, the green one,” she told Dean, flinging aside the blue tie. “Definitely the green one. Are you Sam?” she asked, her dark eyes going wide. “Is this your brother?” she asked Dean.

“Yeah. You got anything that'll fit a moose?” Dean laughed.

Raziel stared at him. “You're about the size of my older stepson, actually. Let's go see. And Dean, Baldr keeps his socks and whatnot towards the back.”

“Hey, yeah, I saw 'em, thanks. By the way, should we work on Cas next?”

“What?” asked Castiel, who suddenly appeared more than slightly terrified.

Raziel was now squinting at Castiel. “Oh, you want something nicer to wear? That would be terrific. I bet we could put you in something of Vali's. I swear, all those boys have more clothes than they'll ever know what to do with! We'll take a look after I get your brother started.” And with that, she grabbed Sam by the arm and half dragged him out of the room and down the hall. She was short even in the ridiculously high heels but strong as an ox. 

She and Sam ended up in yet another grandiose bedroom, where Lady Raziel threw open yet another enormous walk in closet. “Now, don't let your brother scare you,” she told Sam. “It's not _strictly_ formal, but it's pleasant if people want to dress up a little. You might try this and this.” 

Sam was looking in the corner, where a large, very familiar looking hammer was sitting on the floor “Uh, is this your son's?” he asked. 

“Yes, you'd think he'd take better care of it,” Raziel sighed. “Here, hand it over, and I'll hang it up!” With a grunt, Sam lifted the heavy hammer from the floor. Raziel grabbed it in one hand as she held the baby in the other arm and tossed it up on a hook, where it loudly banged the wall, creating a great dent in the plaster. “Now, this one or this one,” said Raziel, who had already swept out with a couple of men's suits. 

“Uh, are you sure about this?” asked Sam. He was no expert, but this stuff was clearly designer label high thread count kinda stuff. No way they'd come from Men's Wearhouse in other words. Anyway, something he really didn’t want to be responsible for getting mustard stains on.

“Tsk. He'll never even notice. To be frank,” she confided, “my husband's always spoiled those boys absolutely rotten. But, that's why you have children, isn't it?” she asked, bouncing her baby. “Isn't it?” she asked.

Baby Jack gurgled, though it wasn't clear if it was in agreement, or if he just liked to gurgle.

“Raziel!” said a well-tailored man with a British accent who had just burst into the room. “What is going on? There's an _angel_ in my room! Some friend of _yours_?”

“Yes, that's my brother Castiel and his little friend. They're just borrowing a few things, Baldr,” sighed Raziel, her dark eyes narrowed. She turned to Sam, who sensed a sudden frost in the room. “Go ahead and change in the washroom,” she urged. She turned back to Baldr as Sam escaped to the bathroom. “We're dressing for dinner tonight. You are coming, aren't you?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Your father expects you.”

Sam shut the door, thinking he probably didn't want to eavesdrop, but neither of the pair was especially soft-spoken.

“Yes, yes,” sighed Baldr. “I'll be there.”

“And are you bringing-”

“Yes!”

“You _know_ Cecil Palmer is coming?”

“Raziel! That was his _last_ avatar who was involved with Kali.”

 _Avatar_? Thought Sam as he slipped into the suit pants. _What the hell?_ He grabbed the suit jacket and shrugged it on.

“I just want to avoid any unpleasantness. Your father-”

“It's none of his business who I see!”

“I didn't say it was, dear. I simply don't want a repeat of … the incident. I just want a nice, pleasant family dinner.”

“Maybe you need a more pleasant family.”

Sam made a big deal out of opening up the bathroom door and stepping out. Raziel had been right, the suit fit like a glove. 

“Oh, that's just perfect!” Raziel said, clapping her hands. “Now we just need to get you a shirt and tie. I think I've seen some in the back. Baldr, hold your brother a moment, will you?” she said, holding out Jack.

Baldr narrowed his eyes, glaring at the tiny baby. “He’s no brother of mine,” he muttered.

All of a sudden, the room grew dark. Baldr shrunk back as Raziel, despite her tiny size, seemed somehow to loom over him, great shadow wings sprouting from her back, her dark eyes glowing a bright blue. “What. Was. That?” she growled.

Sam shrunk back, but at that moment, Dean and Castiel blundered in. “Hey, whaddya think, Lady Raz?” asked Dean, executing a turn worthy of a male model dancing down the runway.

The archangel Raziel, distracted from holy vengeance by the lure of fashion, de-winged. “Oh, that is so nice.”

“Is that one of my suits?” grumbled Baldr, who seemed chastened but unbowed. Castiel, for his part, glared at Baldr.

“Yes,” said Raziel. “And you haven't worn it in eons. Literal eons!” Baldr gave a sullen shrug and departed. “Can I get you to hold Jack a moment, Dean?” Raziel asked.

“How are you doin', little guy?” asked Dean, grabbing baby Jack, who gurgled and flapped his little dark wings. “What do you think? Am I a knockout?” He turned. “Hey, Raz,” he called, as the archangel had disappeared into the closet. “I hope this ain't a rude question, but can this little dude fly?” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Not yet,” she told Dean. “His brother and sister couldn't fly until they were a few months old.”

“Wait, the older kids have wings too?” asked Dean.

“Yes, but they've learned to put them away,” she called out.

“Put 'em away? Like, they have slots?” Dean looked in the baby's back, which evoked a giggle.

“Our wings are actually manifest on an astral plane, Dean,” said Castiel.

“Now Jack, he was actually born with wings, so he might be different,” Raziel called out.

“ _Born_ with wings?” asked Dean.

“Yeah,” said Raziel, emerging from the closet. “Believe me, I remember.” She shook her head as if shaking off the memory and held a couple of shirt and tie combinations up to Sam. “Now, you try these, and we'll go to Vali's room for something for Castiel. Come along, little brother.” And so Castiel was subjected to the dragging treatment. “So where did you meet this Dean? He seems awfully sweet....” she rattled as they left.

“OK, Dean, you mind bringing me up to speed on the avenging angels and flying kids. Like, where the hell are we?” asked Sam.

“Cas's sister's place,” said Dean, admiring himself in the three-way mirror. “I solved a little poltergeist problem for them and wrangled a dinner invitation.” In Dean's arms, Jack flapped his wings, seeming to agree.

“But where are we?”

“Somewhere in the mountains above town, I guess. Cas kind of flew me here. And then we crossed over this weird rainbow bridge thing. I expected to find Strawberry Shortcake and that kinda shit.”

“Yeah, he did the same to me, but we just popped up inside.”

“So what have you been up to, Sammy? Taking a nap?” Dean was trying out his Blue Steel expression in the mirror.

“Hardly. Check this out: I had an encounter with one of the Night Vale librarians-”

“Ha! You get some old lady's bun in a snit?”

Sam deflated. He had hoped Dean would at least be impressed. “They're hardly old ladies here, Dean. They have tentacles! And then the Trickster and I-”

Dean suddenly ceased admiring himself in the mirror. “Wait, you found Loki?”

“He was the one who saved me from the librarians. And then we went with Carlos to stop the invisible clock tower with the fairies.”

Dan was silent for a moment, taking it all in. “I gotta admit, Sammy, you've had an interesting day.”

“Yeah. Too interesting! Oh, and the clock tower is supposed to be related to the apocalypse somehow, but nobody will tell me how.”

Dean shrugged, and he took Jack to the window. He threw open the curtains. “Well, lookee here! I told you we're up in the mountains! See? You can see down to Night Vale below us.” Jack flapped his wings.

“Dean?”

“Mmm?”

“Is that- Is that a giant pyramid hanging in the air?”

 

“So many devices,” said Josie, looking around her yard. 

“Mmm, science,” muttered Carlos, who was, as always, wearing a lab coat and staring at dials.

“Do you have my Christmas lights down now?” Josie asked Zachariah, who was accompanied by two other angels, one male and one female.

“Why are we fiddling with blinking lights?” asked the female angel.

“Now, Hester,” sighed Zachariah. 

“She's already got half the garrison down here helping her!” Hester grumbled.

“Castiel left me in charge,” said Zachariah. “And I'm trying to maintain the peace.”

“Is there anything else we can do for you, Josie?” asked the male angel.

“Can you put out the recycling please, Inias?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, going off with the old woman as he cast a reproachful look at Hester. 

“Why are you looking like that at me?” Hester demanded of Zachariah. “You know we should be out smiting things!”

“Hester,” cautioned Zachariah, as Carlos stood nearby, reading his dials.

“Where the hell is Castiel? This is his charge!” said Hester.

“At a dinner partly,” said Zachariah, looking nervously towards Carlos.

Hester narrowed her eyes, conveying celestial suspicion. “Oh, with that good-looking human boy, I bet!”

“I- I didn't notice his appearance,” Zachariah confessed.

“He was good-looking,” Carlos interjected. “At least two standard deviations above the mean attractiveness index. For a human,” he added. He pointed at one of his readouts, which showed that it was definitely true. 

“Now,” said Josie, who returned, wiping her hands on her apron. “The gutters.”

“The gutters?” asked Hester.

“And I just put the ladder away,” moped Zachariah. He rolled his eyes, but Josie stared at him. “All right, come along, Hester.” The angels walked towards Josie's garden shed.

“Lots of chores for them to do, Josie?” asked Carlos.

“Oh, yes, my dear, the house has been neglected.”

“Well, you just keep them busy,” he told her. 

A shadow crossed over them. A very large, triangular shadow. “Oh, are Flaky-Os doing those spots again?” asked Josie.

Carlos held up a meter. He consulted the dials, and then shook his head. “There is an eighty percent probability that this is not good news,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's gonna be seven chapters, not six. Sorry about that! Also, this chapter gets a teensy bit NSFW at one point, so hide the kiddies.

“Eee!” Baby Jack squealed as Dean tossed him high up into the air. 

He flapped his little wings and, catching the breeze that wafted through the mountains (if they were indeed, mountains) above Night Vale. And then he turned around in mid-air, gliding expertly back into Dean's arms. 

“Awesome,” said Dean.

“Dean,” said Sam, who was standing beside his brother, looking hella judgmental.

“Sammy, don't.”

It hadn’t been young Sam Winchester’s ambition to be the Official Winchester Family Voice of Reason, but, dammit…. “Dean, you just can't toss a kid around like a football!”

Dean paused, one hand fixed around the smiling kid’s belly just like he was lining up for a pass. “Sure we can. Can't we, Jackie boy?” 

Jack giggled, and Dean tossed him again. Squealing with delight, Jack extended small, dark wings and soared back like a little dark-feathered boomerang. A really chubby boomerang, but a boomerang nonetheless.

“This will not end well, Dean,” pronounced Sam. Because, well, _how could it?_ There were Winchesters involved here, after all.

“Spoilsport,” grumbled Dean. “I gotta get one of these angel kids. They rock. Oh, hey!” he said in greeting as Castiel emerged from the house. It was more a palace than a house, actually. The angel appeared concerned. Of course, with his perpetual scowl, Castiel always appeared concerned.

“Dean, may I talk to you?” said Cas. He had changed into a nice, well-cut new suit, although his tie was all askew.

“Hey, sure, just wait a minute.” Dean stepped back to catch baby Jack, and then handed the giggling infant off to Sam. “Here, you throw a few.”

“Dean, I am not throwing the kid!” Sam protested.

“He has learned to fly?” asked Cas, peering at the baby, head tilted like a confused puppy.

“Yeah, is that pretty precocious?” asked Dean, who was hoping to learn that the baby was some kind of genius.

“Unfortunately, I don't know. As these children are only half angelic, not much is known about their development.”

“Hey, hold still, I'll do that,” said Dean, gesturing towards Castiel's untied tie. Castiel looked towards Sam, and then gestured for Dean to move out of earshot, so they walked a few paces away. 

“Dean,” Castiel whispered.

“Yeah? Something about the apocalypse?” asked Dean as he fixed Castiel's tie.

“Uh, no. It's just that, I believe my sister, Raziel, has gotten an incorrect impression about our … _acquaintanceship_.”

“What?” asked Dean. “No stand still. Hey, blue is a good color for you,” he said, admiring his handiwork on the tie.

“It, uh- Oh, it is?” asked Castiel, who looked down in wonder at the garment.

“Yeah, brings out the baby blues.”

“My … _baby blues_?” The concerned squint got even squint-ier.

“Your eyes!”

“My eyes are blue?”

“You don't even know your own eye color?” Dean chuckled. He still had his hands resting on Castiel's shoulders, so Cas's face was close, and those eyes were pretty damned big and blue and looked like they'd just filled up with bits of the sea and sky. “Yeah, looks good...” Dean muttered dumbly. Cas had really long eyelashes. Long, dark eyelashes. They fluttered on his cheek when he blinked. Dean thought about big, dark wings curling around him….

“Shit!” yelled his brother.

“What's going on?” asked Dean, reluctantly tearing himself away from angel-gazing.

“It won't come down!” said Sam, gesturing frantically towards a nearby tree. Dean and Castiel stared up where he was pointing.

Baby Jack was nestled up in the tree, cheerily flapping his wings and gurgling.

“You lost the baby?” asked Dean.

“You told me to throw it!” Sam protested.

“You're supposed to make it come back!”

“This is your fault, Dean,” wailed Sam.

“How is it my fault? _You_ threw it?”

“Threw what?” asked Raziel, as all three men whirled around, and Sam actually emitted a tiny little whoop that was perilously close to a girlie scream. Their angelic hostess had completely changed her outfit, to something sort of red and confusing, but was still tottering around on impossibly high heels.

Sam and Dean glared at each other, and then there was an exchange of accusing fingers. “He did it!” they chorused.

“Did what?” asked Raziel.

“I am afraid,” explained Castiel, “that my, uh, nephew, has gotten himself stuck....” He trailed off, lamely pointing upwards.

Raziel’s gaze traveled up to rest on her gigglng, flapping offspring now nestled in the crook of some high branches. As the Winchesters held their breath, and peered nervously at her well-manicured hands for the sudden appearance of a sword of vengeance, she broke into a grin. “Hey, he’s flying?”

“Uh, sort of?” said Sam.

“I kinda taught him,” Dean confessed.

“Cool!” said Raziel. “Hey kids!” she screamed. Suddenly, as if they had appeared out of thin air (which they just might have) the twins were at her feet. “You kids, go up and get your brother. I just did my nails, so I don't wanna climb a tree. It's almost dinner time.”

The children suddenly sprouted little wings. Abby's were dark-feathered like the baby’s, but Liam's were reddish, like his hair. While they flew upwards towards the baby, Raziel asked, “You boys ready for dinner?” Her cell phone rang. “Oh, that will be my husband. We start gathering in the ballroom in ten minutes!” she said, tottering away on her heels as the winged children pursued her, hugging their giggling baby brother.

“All right. Ready for dinner, guys?” asked Dean, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary, like flying kids for example, had just happened. He rubbed his stomach. “I've worked up an appetite! Hey, you think there'll be cocktail weenies? Or little sandwiches?”

“There are usually appetizers and drinks at these functions,” Castiel told him. 

“Well, what are we waitin' for?” asked Dean. 

“I should call Bobby,” hedged Sam. “You know, give him an update. Can I borrow your phone? Mine is still under the vending machine back at the hotel.”

“Sure thing,” said Dean, tossing his phone to Sam. And then, draping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders, he marched the angel inside.

Sam waited until they were out of earshot, and then dialed a number that definitely did not belong to Bobby Singer. He bit his lip as the screen flashed with a failed call message. “Damn,” he muttered, holding the phone up in the air, trying to get service. 

But before he could get even two bars, he spotted the figure approaching him, walking across the impressive sparkling rainbow bridge that connected this residence in the mountains with the rest of Night Vale. Hastily, Sam crammed Dean’s phone into his pocket, out of sight.

“Have you seen Cecil, Sam?” asked Carlos. “I need to speak with him regarding the floating pyramid.” Carlos had changed clothes, but oddly enough was not wearing a suit: it just looked like he was wearing a different lab coat. This one was double-breasted and looked somewhat more formal. If a lab coat could be formal that is.

“The pyramid? The one that's floating over town?” Sam asked the scientist.

“That's correct, Sam.”

“Is that another harbinger?” asked Sam. It was sort of a joke, though he was not in much of a joking mood.

The scientist’s mien was grave. “Scientifically speaking, according to my instruments, it's either a sign of the impending apocalypse, or a cereal advertisement.”

“Huh. Not much ground in between there.” Sam thought for a moment. “Wait a minute, that cereal we found inside the Night Vale clock tower? That had a pyramid on the box.”

“Flaky-Os. It’s made from locally-grown imaginary corn.”

“You think there's a connection?”

Carlos's face was impassive. Handsome, but impassive. “There's always a connection, Sam. The question is whether it is a relevant connection.”

Sam sighed. Night Vale, home of the unspeakably earnest. “Do you think it’s a _relevant_ connection?”

“The Flaky-Os corporation was widely believed to be behind the last floating pyramid that hovered above our town. However,” Carlos added, “that was a _different_ floating pyramid.”

“So you guys sort of regularly get mysterious floating pyramids here?”

“It’s not uncommon.”

 _Of course not_ , Sam thought.

Carlos's forehead was creased with worry. It only made him more attractive. “Do you suppose Cecil is still broadcasting? He may have returned the radio station to file a report regarding the pyramid.”

“Do you think they’ll order an evacuation?” asked Sam.

It was Carlos’s turn to heave a sigh. “The Night Vale authorities will inevitably tell everyone to just ignore it and it will go away.”

 

_Listeners, I've been advised by the City Council, the Mayor, the Sheriff's Secret Police and the entire staff at Dark Owl Records that we should all just ignore the giant pyramid that has begun to float ominously above our little town. “It's just out for attention,” said Trish Hidge, one of the mayor's assistants, as the mayor was unavailable due to a sudden vacation down in the Dominican Republic, where she says she would like to spend more time with her money._

_For more on this story, we’ve attempted to contact the marketing department of the Flaky-Os company, which, coincidentally, has all gone on a corporate retreat to Mesopotamia. When contacted by one of our reporters, however, a company spokesperson responded, “How the heck did you get out to the Fertile Crescent so fast? Were you following me? Bug off, creep!”_

_A note to listeners who have let their children out to play on the sand wastes this week: we have had reports of many more helicopters than normal flying overhead. These are not the black helicopters of the world government, nor the blue sheriff’s secret police helicopters, but rather the helicopters with complex murals depicting predatory birds in flight. What is the significance? I cannot say. But remember to give the kiddies plenty of fresh water and slap on some sunscreen before they depart your home, possibly forever!_

_I’ve just gotten a text message: oh, it’s from Carlos. Let’s see what he says. He’s wondering if I’m going to be late for dinner. And it’s signed with an emoji of an extinct Therapsid going bowling, how cute! Well, listeners, I have been called many things over the years, but never late for dinner. And so I will sign off. Just remember, if you see a giant pyramid in your neighborhood, be sure to save your box tops, as I’ve been assured you can turn them in for valuable prizes. Good night, Night Vale!_

 

While Carlos waited outside for Cecil to arrive, Sam re-entered the palatial residence through the back door, and then found his way out to the east wing, where the dinner party was taking place. Despite Raziel's assurances that it was an informal affair it looked like something out of a movie, with a lot of snazzily dressed, rather impossibly pretty people standing around a grand ballroom, sipping champagne while a small jazz band played.

Sam quickly located his brother by seeking out the hors d'oeuvres table.

“Mini bagel dogs, Sammy! It's like whoever stocked this read my mind.” Dean's eyes shone with greed.

Sam regarded the table: it was a rather confusing mix of delicacies like caviar and truffles, and more mundane fare, like little roast beef sandwiches and pizza rolls. “Uh, being this is Night Vale, where teleportation is evidently a common form a public transportation? I wouldn't exactly doubt they have telepathic caterers,” Sam grumbled as his brother chowed down, cheeks bulging like a squirrel gone mad. It was not a matter of whether his brother would do something gauche; it was more a matter of _when_. He scanned the room for a rumpled trench coat. “Where's your angel, anyway?”

“ _My_ angel? Oh, you mean Cas?” 

“You're on a first name basis now.”

“He's only got the one name. Like Cher!” said Dean, stuffing his piehole with more bagel dogs. “Anyway, I sent him to get drinks.”

“You sent your angel to the bar? Just great.” 

“Well, his brothers are out planting hedges, why not?”

A couple appeared at the top of the grand staircase that dominated the room, and a servant standing at the top of the stairs announced, “Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom, and her consort, Wakea, God of the Sky.”

“Wait, what's that?” asked Sam.

Dean dug into the pizza rolls. “Oh, yeah, it’s like Cinderella’s ball here. Cas and I managed to avoid the grand entrance, since we snuck in the back,” said Dean.

Sam tried not to roll his eyes, figuring Dean's brain had been temporarily overridden by his greedy stomach. “No, I mean the other party guests. They're pagan gods, Dean.”

Dean munched on a pizza roll, wiping pepperoni grease from his hands onto his borrowed pants. “Yeah. Seems like.”

Despite his brother's insouciance, Sam glanced around nervously. “Are we in a room full of pagan gods? Should we be getting out pointed sticks or something?”

“His majesty, the All Father, Odin, King of Valhalla, and his consort, the Lady Raziel of the Seraphim,” boomed the servant as Raziel, who had changed clothes once again to some kind of perplexing outfit that appeared to be made out of swan feathers and gold leaf, tottered down the grand staircase on the arm of a big, bearded guy. He was taller than Sam, and looked like some kind of Viking, though he was actually dressed in a bespoke suit.

“Whoa,” said Dean, watching them descend. “Nice eyepatch.”

“OK, Dean, we’re dining with Odin?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, he’s got really good mini cheesesteaks,” whispered Dean, taking a big bite of sandwich. “Look, Sammy, just play it cool for a while, OK? And we'll check out the place and see what's going on.”

“And if it doesn't work out, we can kill them?” asked Sam. Dean grinned and shrugged.

Cecil and Carlos were now at the head of the stairs. “Cecil Palmer, the twenty-first earthly avatar of Shiva, Lord of Destruction, and his life partner, Carlos the Scientist.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. “Oh, so that’s the deal with...” said Sam, tapping his forehead where Cecil’s third eye was located.

“Hey, nice lab coat, Doc!” Dean called to Carlos as the couple reached the bottom of the stairway.

“Thank you,” said Carlos, fingering his white lapel. “I reserve this garment for times when there is a greater than 85% probability of a formal occasion.”

Cecil was dressed in an outfit that was at least as perplexing as that of Lady Raziel. He was wearing checkered pants, a plaid waistcoat and plaid jacket over a plaid shirt, all of the patterns different and clashing.

His lavender tie had a series of eyes on it. The eyes moved (of course).

“Cecil, tell me this is not another of your thrift shop finds!” Lady Raziel pleaded, her swan feathers fluffing out as she wafted over to make conversation.

“I spent less on this outfit than I did on my taco from Jerry's Tacos at lunchtime,” the genial radio host bragged. “Oh, other than the tie. That cost $80,000 dollars. But fortunately I had a government grant!”

“So, hey, Lady Raz, your main squeeze is the Big O?” said Dean through bites of appetizers.

Cringing, Sam scanned the room for a piece of furniture large enough to hide under.

“Yeah, it's true,” said Raziel.

“It started as a torrid affair!” Cecil gleefully confided. “Very scandalous.”

“Yep, and now I'm married with a house full of brats,” said Raziel, punching Cecil playfully on the shoulder. “So you take that as a warning, Ceec.”

Cecil winced. “As we are both male entities,” Carlos broke in, “we stand less of a chance of unwanted pregnancy.”

Raziel threw her head back and laughed. “Carlos, your guy is a pagan god. Haven't you read any mythology?”

“Hey, yeah, that's right, didn't Aphrodite spring outta some dude's head or something?” Dean supplied, while Sam looked on, completely perplexed that his brother had evidently read something that didn't feature big-busted Asian women.

“That's Athena,” said Cecil, who was still rubbing his arm. “Aphrodite was born when Chronus cut off Uranus's dick and tossed it into the ocean.” The males anywhere in the vicinity all winced. “What?” said Cecil, smiling a pointy-toothed smile.

“Sounds like the Egyptian pantheon,” huffed Raziel. “Those guys are real weirdos. And they always eat up all our mini bagel dogs.”

Sam shot a glare at Dean.

“Lord Baldr, and his current girlfriend, Lady Kali, Goddess of Destruction,” came the announcement from up high.

Suddenly, conversations quieted, and all eyes were drawn up to the top of the stairs, where Baldr, the rude guy Dean and Sam had met earlier, stood next to a gorgeous, dark-skinned woman. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Dean whispered to Sam.

Sam searched his memories of world mythology classes. “Um, I think, if I remember my stories right, that Kali and Shiva had … a _thing_.”

“A thing?”

“A thing. And they’re both, you know, gods of destruction.”

Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath. Baldr and Kali descended into the room, and then all drew back as Cecil and Kali approached one another near the foot of the stairs.

“Shiva,” said Kali as Cecil, a hypnotic vision in plaid upon plaid upon plaid, strode forward to kiss her flawlessly-manicured hand. “That is a … _striking_ new avatar you're wearing. I am frankly … bedazzled.” She arched a single expertly-plucked eyebrow.

“Kali,” said Cecil. “So I see you're still wearing _last year's_ avatar?”

The room went silent. Kali's eyes went red. Cecil's third eye opened.

An electric buzz pervaded the air. Sam felt the small hairs on the back of his arms stand up. He wondered again if they should have brought along some wooden stakes.

And then Kali threw her head back and laughed, a tinkling, musical sound. “Oh, you're always so charming,” she said, patting his hand. “Cecil, is it now?”

“May I present my boyfriend, Carlos?” Cecil said, and terribly polite introductions were made. 

“What a relief,” whispered Raziel, who had a small hand on Dean's arm. “My stepson insisted on bringing her along. I so hate it when my dinner parties erupt into internecine bloodshed. And we haven’t even made it to the first course yet!”

“Cool sword,” said Dean, pointing down to the saber she was now holding in her right hand.

“Oh, uh, this old thing?” asked Raziel, who picked it up somewhat sheepishly. She handed it to Dean. “Will you hang on to it for a minute? I gotta get the kids ready!”

Raziel tottered off, leaving a spray of white feathers. 

“Be careful with that Dean,” warned Sam. “It's sharp.” 

“Of course it's sharp,” said Dean. “Ouch!” he added, after testing it with his finger. He turned feinted with the blade....

And managed to neatly slice off the end of Castiel's tie. The angel had been returning from the bar with their drinks. 

Sam grabbed one of the drinks and took a healthy gulp. 

“Uh, sorry man,” said Dean.

“That … was borrowed,” said Cas.

“Trouble with your accoutrements?” asked Cecil. Castiel had picked up the cut end of his tie and was holding it forlornly, along with his drink.

Cecil grabbed the drink out of Cas’s hand and passed it along to Carlos. Then while Castiel looked confused and Dean glared, Cecil expertly unknotted the tie and fastened it back instead as an attractive bow tie. “There you go!” he said. “All ready for cocktails.” He grabbed the drink back from Carlos and finished it in one gulp, and then strolled off, giving a cheerful wave with the cut end of the tie, which he tucked in his jacket pocket.

Dean went and tugged at the ends Cas’s new bow tie. “Not as good as I would have done,” he grumbled.

“You don’t like it?” Cas’s head had listed to the side, as if in disappointment.

“Oh, no, you look great!” Dean insisted.

“Get a room,” muttered Sam, sipping his drink. 

“What?” asked Dean. 

“Uh, I said, _there's a lot of gods in the room_ ,” Sam told him.

“That's actually correct, Sam,” offered Carlos. “There's roughly two dozen at the present time.”

“And Cecil is an avatar of Shiva?” Sam asked.

“Yes. Dating the Lord of Destruction adds certain unique challenges to our relationship.” Carlos's handsome forehead creased in worry, as if he were picking out exactly what to say. “The Night Vale area has become a sort of … retirement community for many such beings. It seems they favor the dry desert air.”

“Wait,” said Sam. “So all of the residents we've met are actually gods?”

Carlos shook his head. “Oh, by no means! Most are just the same as you, probably human. But there are a certain critical number of non-human entities who dwell among us. Most live up here in the mountains. Not Cecil, though, as he does not believe in mountains.” 

“And that's why the weird?” asked Sam.

“Possibly. My current theory is that it is the combined supernatural influence of so many magical beings dwelling in close proximity that causes such a range of unusual phenomena occurring in this immediate environs.”

“Too many gods spoil the eyeball soup?” asked Dean.

Carlos flashed a smile. “In a manner of speaking.”

Just then, Raziel called, “Hey, soup’s on everybody!” and the assembled guests began making for the dining room. Carlos excused himself to find Cecil.

“Night Vale is Leisure World for pagan gods?” Dean whispered to Sam as the brother, along with Castiel, found their way to the dining hall.

Sam shrugged. “Well, I guess that makes sense. If you're immortal, you need to find a place to spend eternity.”

“And you're OK with all this, Cas?” Dean asked.

Castiel appeared honestly puzzled, as he often seemed in Dean's company. “For what reason would I not be, ‘OK?’”

“They're pagan gods. Isn't there some bad mojo between you?”

“They are all my Father's creations,” said Castiel serenely.

When they reached the dining hall, Dean was surprised to see that the little kids were at the table along with all the fancy dinner guests. And the enormous pet wolves appeared to be running around as well. He passed the little winged baby, Jack, sitting in a high chair between Raziel and Odin, who dominated the end of the table. Dean offered Jack a high five (which he had also taught him earlier that day), which was eagerly returned. He handed Lady Raziel back her saber, which she thankfully tucked under her chair and continued to feed the baby.

Dean swung around to find a seat the other side of the table, near Odin. He quickly noticed that he had two very small pursuers when he stopped at a place setting and saw the twins staring up at him. “Am I sitting next to you guys?” he asked.

“Kids!” said Raziel, who was feeding the baby some strained peaches. “Don’t be a pain!”

“Aw, it’s fine, we’re buddies,” Dean assured her. He took a seat, Castiel at his side, and the kids thumped down little booster seats and sat up on the other side. Sam ended up on the opposite side of the table, between Raziel and Kali. Kali smiled warmly at him, fluttering long lashes. He smiled back, which earned a glare from Baldr, which only caused Sam to turn up the charm index.

“Not smart, Sammy,” chuckled Dean, who suddenly saw little hands setting something on his place setting. “Oh, cool, we’re gonna color?” he asked, picking up the coloring book and crayons. “All right, Cas, we gotta color,” he said, passing on one of the books to Castiel. 

“I’m sorry?” said Castiel, holding up the coloring book. 

“You color it, Cas,” Dean explained, holding up a purple crayon. “And make sure to stay inside the lines. That’s important!” The twins nodded in agreement.

“What is 'My Little Raptor?'” the angel inquired as he scanned the pages filled with line drawings of charming licensed characters.

“It’s designed for children,” explained Cecil, had sat down beside Castiel. “It’s to familiarize the young people of Night Vale with certain of the mysterious helicopters that hover overhead.”

“The black helicopters?” asked Dean.

“No, no, the black helicopters are world government,” said Cecil, using a silver butter knife to spread hemlock butter on his whole wheat roll. “Blue helicopters are the sheriff’s secret police, who so rarely kidnap children.”

“Then what about the yellow helicopters?” asked Dean.

“We don’t speak of those.” Cecil placed the buttered roll down on his saucer and squinted at it with his third eye. The roll burst into flames. “But there is another kind of helicopter, with complex murals of birds of prey depicted on the side. No one knows what they are, nor of their intentions. But they do have the cutest little cartoon mascots. It is fortunate that they have been declassified by the City Council.”

“What color are falcons?” inquired Cas, who was now regarding his My Little Raptor book with a fierce intensity. “Because I don’t believe I have crayons of the appropriate hue.”

“You can blend ‘em,” Dean suggested.

“Cecil, who do you think is in those other helicopters?” asked Sam from the other side of the table. “The ones with the birds?”

“Who can say?” mused Cecil.

“I believe they're asking _you_ to say, dear,” said Carlos, who was now going over the ashes on Cecil's saucer with one of his meters. “Hrm, yes, high radiation levels,” he said, apparently regarding the ashes, although he may have meant his companion, as Carlos was side-eyeing Cecil.

“Who would plaster their helicopter with dramatic graphics depicting diving falcons?” said Cecil, who was now making a great fuss over spooning up potatoes in truffle oil.

“Wait, falcons?” said Sam. That seemed familiar somehow.

“Have you ever hunted with a falcon?” Kali asked Sam.

“That's a wonderful kind of hunt!” boomed Odin from up at the head of the table, where he was helping to feed the baby strained something-or-other. “Me, I wouldn't go out without my ravens.” And, true to his word, he had a pair of black birds sitting on the back of his chair, looking out over everyone.

“But I thought there was something about falcons...” said Sam. He was going to ask Dean, who seemed enraptured by his stupid coloring book (and his stupid blue-eyed angel), but one of the enormous wolves that had been lurking under the table suddenly nosed his leg. “Hey, no beggars, buddy!” he scolded a pair of big, brown eyes, though he gave it a scratch behind the ears. Sam had a soft spot for big dogs.

“More bread rolls?” asked a servant, who was now suddenly leaning over Sam's shoulder.

“No more bread rolls, I just-”

“More bread rolls!” said the servant, dumping an entire basket of them onto Sam's plate. 

“Hey! Why did you do that?” asked Sam.

“And have some butter,” said the servant, who was now standing with a butter knife at Sam's throat.

“What the hell?” croaked Sam as Dean suddenly threw down his crayon and leaped to his feet. 

Raziel was already up on top of the table, standing in six-inch heels beside a graceful centerpiece, holding her sword on the servant. “Hey! Back off from my dinner guest, asshole!” she barked. “No bloodshed 'til after the main course.”

“Yeah! Leave my brother alone!” Dean echoed.

“Then stay the fuck away from Kali!” the servant told Sam.

“I wasn't even flirting with Kali,” said Sam.

“You weren't?” asked Kali, who sounded more than a bit disappointed.

Cecil stared at the servant, smiling mysteriously and biting a morsel of roast beef. “Ah, nice to see you again so soon, _Loki_.”

The servant glared at Cecil, and his face suddenly morphed into one more recognizable. “Spoilsport,” the Trickster grumbled.

“Loki!” boomed Odin, from the head of the table. 

“Loki!” said Kali, suddenly getting to her feet.

“Loki!” said Baldr, who was also standing.

“Gabriel?” said Castiel, who remained sitting, burnt ochre crayon poised over his coloring book.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Uh, like the archangel, Gabriel?” Sam asked Castiel.

“Ummm,” said Loki, who quite suddenly did not seem so confident.

“Oh, now I'm really gonna murder you!” yelled Raziel, charging off the table and raising her sword. 

Loki – who was actually Gabriel – stepped back, his butter knife suddenly morphed into a sword. “Raz, you can't still be sore about _that_ ,” he said, trying to raise his blade against her blow. “I mean, are you?”

“Wait, I need a scorecard here,” said Dean, who seemed relieved now his brother was no longer in imminent danger and besides there was a cool sword fight going on right nearby featuring a cute girl. “The servant dude was actually Loki, but he's not actually Loki?”

“Loki, who is also known as the Trickster, had disguised himself as a servant to infiltrate the dinner party,” Carlos helpfully supplied as Raziel slashed a no doubt priceless tapestry from the wall swinging at her brother. “But unbeknownst to the public at large, Loki is actually the angel, Gabriel, in disguise.”

“ _Archangel_ ,” corrected Cecil, rubbing his lipstick off his wine glass with his handkerchief. “Though, of course, we're not supposed to be privy to knowledge about the hierarchies of angels, according to the City Council.”

“Huh,” said Dean. “Ya know, Sammy, I think I'd hold off flirting with Kali. The girl's got a god and an archangel after her already.”

“I wasn't flirting with her,” Sam huffed.

“Why not?” purred Kali.

“Indeed, why not,” echoed Baldr, who was looking not a little bit discomfited.

“Raz, can you cut that out?” yelled Odin, to the sound of a priceless bronze of a running horse being knocked over by two quarreling angels. “They're going to serve dessert!”

“Oh, the chocolate decadence?” asked Raziel. “Yummy!” At the mention of sweets, Gabriel looked eager, so she hit him with the hilt of her sword and knocked him down, and then strode back to the table. Kali ran over to help Gabriel, Baldr trailing uncertainly after her.

“I have finished coloring My Little Raptor,” announced Castiel, who proudly held up his coloring book. 

Dean leaned over to get a glimpse. It looked somewhat like a work of the pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, that is, if their medium had been a Crayola 64-pack. “Wow,” said Dean. 

“Wait,” said Sam. “That's it! You said the kids found a dead falcon man!”

“It was sort of a falcon-man, and sort of a man-falcon,” said Dean.

“Wait, on my property?” asked Odin, scratching his neatly trimmed, reddish beard.

“The kids found the corpse, and somehow brought the angry spirit back to the basement. That's why all the knocking and howling. But Dean cleaned it out for us!” Raziel told him.

“Part falcon you say? Sounds like one of those damned Egyptian gods. Kids, go get my pantheon registry!” he told the twins, who scurried off. The baby fluttered overhead. “No, not you, you can't read yet, Jack!” Odin told him. The baby settled down in the crook of his arm. Odin looked around. “And when did this one learn to fly?”

“Dean taught him!” Raziel supplied.

“Well, you've been busy!” said Odin. “Good work, Dean!” Dean puffed his chest. Castiel smiled at him, and Dean positively beamed with pride.

“Oh, here we are,” said Odin, taking a heavy book the twins had retrieved. He pushed away his place setting and set the large tome down on the table in front of him as his children squirmed into his lap. “A registry of pantheons,” he muttered, tracing a thick finger down the page. “Horus! I knew it.”

'Horus is the deity they found dead in your garden?” asked Sam, who was probably the only one paying attention at this point, as the kitchen had started to bring out the chocolate decadence. Odin nodded. “But who killed him?”

“It wasn't so much he who was killed as it was his present manifestation on earth,” Cecil corrected.

“Cecil,” chided Carlos.

“Well, Sam is obviously a very smart individual,” said Cecil, spooning up a bite from his ramekin of mousse, “but it's just elementary theology!”

“Gods upon earth have a certain immutable essence,” Castiel quietly explained. He had been puzzling over his meal all evening, taking only experimental bites here and there, and was now giving a close examination to his dessert. “They may however take a number of different, usually sequential, manifestations.”

“So, we wait for the dude to reincarnate, and see what was up?” asked Dean. “How long will that take.”

“It could be any time, ranging from a few months to millennia”

“Millennia?” said Dean.

“Yes, Dean, that's a long time,” snarked Sam, which earned a glare from Dean.

“That doesn't do us much good,” said Dean.

“Well, it was probably his uncle Set, wasn't it?” asked Raziel. “Some people just can't get along with their families.” Kali was helping Gabriel back to the table, and Raziel turned and she and Gabriel stuck out tongues at one another. 

“Set is out here now,” said Cecil. 

“Retired?” asked Dean.

“No. Working for that cereal company. They fired the last marketing director after the PR disaster.”

“Cereal, yes,” said Odin. “Never cared for the stuff myself. But you would do well to check out that pyramid!” added Odin.

“The creepy mysterious floating pyramid?” asked Dean.

“The first floating pyramid was heavily rumored to be an advertising display,” sighed Cecil, who had finished his chocolate decadence, and was now stealing bites of Carlos's dessert. “Although the company never admitted its responsibility.”

“Flaky-Os, right?” asked Sam.

“What the heck are Flaky-Os?” asked Dean. “Never heard of 'em.”

“Cereal made from local imaginary corn,” Gabriel put in. The servants had made him a place setting, do Sam's annoyance, next to Kali. He pulled something out of a pocket and tossed it on the table. “The cereal is tasty, but not the prizes.”

Dean picked up the plastic toy. “Did you give this to a dog to chew on?” he asked, noticing the tooth mark. “All right, so, creepy ass pyramid, and Flaky-Os company. We got a couple of places to start asking questions.”

“Tomorrow!” said Odin.

“Tomorrow?” asked Sam.

“Because now is time for … wassailing!”

 

“Carlos?”

“Nnn?”

Cecil gasped, and a row of his fingernails scraped four red, parallel lines into the scientist's sweat-dampened back. He tightened his legs, now hiked up around Carlos's waist, as his back pressed harder against the door. “Bed,” he managed to mutter into Carlos's neck, pausing between bouts of hearty sucking. “The bed.”

“Bed?” Carlos paused, his glasses were all askew, fogged up and drooping down his nose. How was he still wearing glasses? He wasn't wearing anything else. Ah, Carlos, with those lovely eyes, so full of inquiry, pupils now blown fully wide, darkness inside a darkness. Cecil's lovely one.

“Bed.” Cecil pointed a shaking hand across the room. “Soft bed.” Yes, when dinner had gone late (as it usually did) their hostess had offered them one of the guest rooms, featuring a lovely, freshly made bed, but one thing had led to another, and here they were, going at it against the door, and Cecil really had nothing to complain about, but he did feel obligated to make his lover aware of their options. In not so many words. As words weren't coming to fast to the usually smooth-tongued radio personality at the moment.

“Huff,” said Carlos, or something similar, but Cecil didn't have much mental space to ponder, because then he was right back at it, and right into that sweet spot Cecil swore made him quiver down in his immortal soul, and it was a while before he could once again make any kind of coherent sound, other than moans and random invocations of a deity. Carlos was like an oncoming storm, and Cecil just held on and let himself get caught up in the whirlwind. More scratch marks scored their way across that perfect back, heels digging into that perfect ass, that perfect cock so far up inside him. Life was a dream. A beautiful, beautiful dream.

They eventually made it into the bed, sore and sweaty but ever so satisfied, Cecil stretching out like a contented cat while Carlos wrapped arms and legs around him, making certain there was not a molecule of space between them. Cecil grabbed off those ridiculous eyeglasses and put them on, amusing himself with the funhouse mirror version of the world. “You are really, really blind, you know.”

“You have enough eyes for both of us,” Carlos muttered, kissing the top of Cecil's head.

“This is a nice room,” said Cecil, eyeing the fresco of gods off on a hunt that someone had painted on the ceiling.

“We need to think about getting a home,” said Carlos. “Our own home.”

“Beds will be optional, I think,” said Cecil with a low chuckle. 

Carlos tensed slightly.

“Sooo,” said Cecil, peering over the chunky glasses, all three eyes pointed towards Carlos, waving a hand towards the door, “how much of that was due to Kali?”

He could feel Carlos swallow, felt the tension creep through him, feel his hands tighten. “Scientifically speaking, I would say … around 65% percent,” he answered honestly. “Plus or minus.”

Cecil twisted around to lie on his belly, so he was facing Carlos. Beautiful Carlos. A shining if sweaty beacon. “That was a past life, you know. Literally, a past life.”

“Yes, but Cecil!” Carlos protested. “I find myself in a committed relationship with someone for whom I care deeply, but it seems you have a past. A very long past!”

Cecil gently shushed him. “ _Past_. That's the critical word. The past. Kali had her own path. Now she's Baldr's and Gabriel's to spar about.”

“And the younger brother,” said Carlos, momentarily forgetting his angst. 

“Yes!” said Cecil. “That certainly added an element of _frisson_ , don't you think?”

“If you say so.” Carlos fell silent.

“When we look for a home,” said Cecil, walking a couple of fingers up Carlos's chest, “what do you say, let's by all means make sure it has a number of very sturdy wooden doors.”

That got a smile. A small one, but a smile. Cecil removed the glasses and placed them over on the nightstand. “My Carlos,” he whispered, taking Carlos's face in his hands, “how can I ease your mind? Because it is a magnificent mind! Full of … science-y stuff.”

“Science-y stuff?” asked Carlos, and now the smile was threatening a grin.

Cecil nestled himself into Carlos's chest. “Yes, like little differential equations all scribbled out on your brain: dx/dt and all that!”

“You play a clown, don't you?”

“When it serves my purposes.”

They lay together for a long, lovely moment. “Cecil, what can you tell me about the clock tower?”

“What _can't_ I tell you about the clock tower: now, that would be a more interesting question.”

“I don't want riddles.”

“That is what is laid down before you now. I had to give up certain things to take this form: the form of this man. I thought it best. I still think so. But there are things I can do, and things I cannot.”

“And telling me about the clock tower is one of the latter?”

Cecil's eyes were pleading. “I can love you, with all my mind, all my heart, all my soul.”

“Will that be enough?”

 

At a small motel just outside town on the edge of the desert, a young woman was returning to her room after a late dinner at the attached restaurant. She was small, dark-haired, dark-eyed and pretty. And she was not actually a young woman at all, though this kind of thing was not terribly unusual for the town of Night Vale. In any case, just for the record, she was a 600-year-old demon from hell, and a protege of the very first demon, a malevolent spirit named Lilith. 

She had been calling a certain phone number for the past few days, but receiving no answer. It was getting frustrating. And now the sun was setting on another day.

She paused from dabbing at a speck of ketchup that had gotten on her blouse as she heard the ringing. She turned. The telephone in the dusty glass booth that stood alongside the parking lot was ringing. She looked around to see if anyone else was nearby, and then ducked into the booth. The hinges were a little rusty, so she had some trouble closing the door. She picked up the receiver, noticing that the chord between the receiver and the phone had been cut. She rolled her eyes.

“Alastair, you know, you could just call my cell,” she sighed into the receiver.

“I don't want to risk being overheard, Ruby. Spies are everywhere!”

“Look, this phone is busted, Alastair. Don't you think they'll get suspicious of me standing around out here? I look like a fucking drug dealer or something.”

There was a nasty chuckle on the other end of the line. “Isn't that what you are, my dear?”

“Fuck off.”

“Have you succeeded in your mission yet?”

Ruby stared down at her ragged fingernails. They had been bitten down to the quick. She needed a manicure, she decided. “I can't get into town, and he keeps getting pulled back in by some bullshit. I don't know what the fuck is up. This place is weirder than the seventh circle of hell, and lemme tell you, it's pretty fucked up down there!”

“I am coming. Soon.”

“Yeah? Well, wait 'til you get here. You'll see. This place is twisted.”

“So you are saying you have failed.”

“No, that's not what I'm saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Ruby paused. “Alastair-”

“Do we need to pull someone else? Or shall I ask Lilith for another reference. If you find yourself incapable-”

“You can't get someone else!” Ruby shouted into the broken phone. She took a breath, and then another. With an effort, she stilled her vessel's beating heart. “Dammit, Alastair, don't get all smoked out on me. You can't get someone else,” she pleaded, more softly, more desperately. “You know that! I've got his trust. You know how hard it is to get a Winchester on your side? Those guys aren't exactly the touchy feely types.”

“Complete your mission. And then report back. That, young lady, is an order. And may I just repeat, as you well know, failure is not an option.”

The phone went dead, and she was left alone, on the edge of the desert, in a dusty, broken down phone booth, staring out across the sand wastes.


	5. Chapter 5

When the demon arrived in town, he rode in style.

The limo was long and black, and reflected the hot desert sun.

The driver opened the back door: his eyes were black as the car, and just as endless. The demon emerged, a woman on either arm. 

Anywhere else, people on the sidewalk might have edged back. There was something empty about him, something soulless. But this was Night Vale, which held its own secrets. Passersby scurried along the sidewalk, staring at the ground, the same as they ever did. The demon and his companions nearly walked right into a pair of hooded figures who were out walking their dog, but all parties managed to dodge out of the way at the last moment.

As for the demon, he got a slight chill from the encounter, which he ascribed to the dry desert wind. And so they passed inside the sliding doors of the hotel: the fanciest one in town, and the only luxury hotel that hadn't burned to the ground in a mysterious fire. 

The clerk behind the desk was young. He had been young for a very long time. His voice cracked when he said, “Yes, sir? How may I help you?”

“I have a room,” chuckled the demon, the women on his arms giggling.

“What’s the name sir?”

“The name,” said the demon, pushing down his dark sunglasses and leaning over the desk, “is Alastair.” The pediatrician meatsuit that the demon was wearing was tall and broad: substantial enough to be intimidating.

The clerk blinked. “No last name?”

Alastair frowned. This was going a little more slowly than usual. “No last name,” he intoned, his voice dripping an ancient menace.

“Oh, like Cher!” said the clerk brightly. 

“No,” said Alastair, now pushing the blonde and the brunette impatiently away from him, “not like Cher.”

The clerk was now fussing with a rusty, dusty metal box containing much-thumbed 3x5 cards. “Nope. Doesn’t look like we have an Alastair here in the reservations. Are you sure you didn’t register under another name?”

“I do not have another name,” said Alastair, his eyes beginning to burn hot.

“Would you be willing to take a bottomless pit of despair if we don’t have a room?” burbled the clerk. “No extra charge for the despair, of course!”

“No, I will not take a bottomless pit,” rumbled Alastair. His female companions had turned into wraiths, and stood there, silent, not giggling at all.

“Let me talk to my manager,” said the clerk cheerily, picking up an old-fashioned dial telephone. The telephone fizzled with static, and then a purple cloud emerged from the receiver. The cloud hung mysteriously over the desk, radiating a kind of primal menace.

Alastair glared. Nobody radiated primal menace better than he!

And then he flinched, as he was bombarded by a rain of dead frogs and snakes. 

“My manager wonders if you’d take a double?” said the clerk. “And your wraith friends will stay free!”

“What?” asked Alastair, trying to disentangle a not-quite-dead-yet snake from his lapels. 

“It’s a very good deal. It includes breakfast!” the clerk whispered confidentially.

“But I had reserved a suite!” Alastair protested, just as it began to rain armadillos and lesser stoats. “All right all right all right!” he gasped as an armadillo struck him on the head, knocking off his sunglasses.

“A very good decision, sir,” smiled the clerk, as the mysterious, glowing fog seeped back into the telephone. “A very _wise_ decision. Now, I’ll just need a valid driver’s license, a credit card, some S &H Green Stamps, and one of the Dead Sea Scrolls as a deposit.”

 

In the end, Dean was never to find out what wassailing actually was. Or if he had found out, he couldn't remember. Somewhere, between the toasts to health and to life and toasts-just-for-the-hell-of-it and the dancing and yet more toasts, Raziel had offered them all guest rooms in the residence, and Dean had awoken to the snores of the enormous wolf who had apparently bedded down with him.

His head was a little muzzy, and his throat felt dry, so after a quick shower he donned the fresh clothing (jeans and Night Vale Scorpions T shirt) that had been laid out for him. More hand me downs from one of the brothers, he wondered? And then he padded downstairs to the kitchen to find it was already occupied.

“Would you care for some coffee?” Carlos asked brightly.

“Yeah, dude,” said Dean. Carlos grabbed another mug down from the cupboard. This was the first time Dean had seen the guy without a lab coat. All he was currently wearing, besides those big, chunky glasses, was a ratty pair of sweat pants with the NVCR logo across the butt. And that was it. Dean couldn’t help noticing, for some nerdy science dude, damn, the guy was ripped underneath that lab coat.

Dean also couldn’t help noticing the tell-tale scratches raked across Carlos’s back. “So, have a good time last night?” Dean asked, arching an eyebrow.

Carlos stopped what he was doing, glanced over his shoulder, and to Dean’s surprise, suddenly spouted the most devilish grin ever on his chiseled features. Dean nodded and smiled as well, and Carlos turned his attention back to pouring water into the French press coffee pot. _Somebody got lucky_ , thought Dean, for whom it had been a while. Forty years, if you counted hell. And he definitely counted hell.

“Cecil always needs his coffee first thing if he’s going to be at all human,” Carlos explained, gently pushing down the plunger on the coffee pot. “Personally, I find the addictive quality of caffeine to be intriguing. Its mechanism of action is to cause the blockade of adenosine receptors.”

“You guys live together?” Dean asked, hoping to be conversational. “You and Cecil?”

Carlos carefully poured the aromatic brewinto several mugs. “No, but we’re hoping to,” he said with a bright smile. “We had a small … _misadventure_ , I suppose you could call it, when I impulsively purchased a condominium. Life in Night Vale I have found is sometimes an invitation to misadventure. But as we have now been together happily for many months, we are in search of a suitable dwelling place so as to proceed forward with our relationship. Won't you have some French toast?” he added, as he began rummaging around, pulling egg cartons and loaves of bread out of the cupboard.

Dean rubbed his head. “Boy, I was just gonna down coffee and some aspirin this morning, but yeah, I'll try some.”

“Cecil has encouraged me to add cooking to my repertoire, and I find the process to be soothing,” Carlos explained, as he brought out yet more ingredients. “In light of your condition, which I perceive to be mild dehydration as a consequence of your ingestion of copious quantities ethanol-based beverages the previous evening, perhaps I will add in my _huevos rancheros_ to the menu, as it is reputed to be a hangover cure.”

“Damn, you're prefect,” said Dean, enjoying the coffee, which was, to be honest, absolutely flawless.

“Perfect and perfectly taken,” announced Cecil, who had just wafted in wearing a dressing gown the color of sea foam and a summer's day. Gripping Carlos's waistband, he went up on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss. Cecil’s third eye blinked open, but then, looking slightly sleepy and bloodshot, drifted shut again. Dean had to smile, despite his bleariness. They were weird as shit, but, well, live and let live, he guessed. Though he was sure his father would have had a lot to say on the subject.

“So, this Horus guy, the dead Egyptian god: one of your buddies, Ceec?” asked Dean, whose mind was ever on his case.

“Not one of _my_ buddies,” Cecil sniffed. “That Egyptian pantheon could never get their act straight. And so grim, what with always chopping each other to bits. The only fun one was Cleopatra. That lady was was a riot!”

“Cecil, I need a hand,” said Carlos, who had a number of bowls of ingredients now spread out on the counter, along with a couple frying pans heating up on the stove. “Or two.”

Cecil nodded and did a little shrug, sort of the same motion as when Cas had shown his wings the other night, and then all of a sudden, to Dean's astonishment, he didn’t have just two arms, but four. He immediately took to the stove, adjusting burners and manning fry pans, whilst continuing to hold forth regarding godly politics. The crazy tattoos, too, split apart and came to rest on either arm. 

“They should probably talk to Set,” said Carlos. “He's settled down in Night Vale. He's become a cereal company executive.”

“And Set is...?” asked Dean, slightly hypnotized by all the arms.

“Horus and Set is one of the longest-running feuds in any of the pantheons. Though it began with Set's murder of Osiris, Horus's father,” Cecil explained.

“...As well as Set’s own brother. It is somewhat akin to Cain and Abel in the Judeo-Christian tradition,” Carlos put in as he whipped up an egg batter for the French toast.

“Well, yes, except Set is a complete jerk,” huffed Cecil, flipping hash browns in a frying pan for emphasis. Dean smiled and watched the couple move around each other, assembling a big breakfast, and all the while wondering why even though he was hung over and hanging around with a weird, multi-armed god of destruction, he was actually in a pretty cheery mood. Usually he'd be filing a stake to drive through somebody's heart. Maybe he was still a little drunk?

“Hello, Dean,” came a sepulchral voice. 

“Hey, Cas!” said Dean, turning around to face the angel. Cas had shed his expensive clothes, and was back to the rumpled trench coat and ill-fitting suit, his tie all askew. Dean had an insane compulsion to straighten it out for him, but managed to resist it.

“Will you have breakfast, Castiel?” asked Carlos. “We have plenty!”

“I cannot stay.”

“We have enough food to feed a masked army,” said Cecil, who was munching on some sliced tomato.

“I do not require food and drink,” said Castiel. And Dean slumped, a little disappointed. “But,” Castiel added, gazing at the French press, “I have developed an affection for human coffee. Perhaps I will stay for a cup?”

Carlos had a mug in Castiel's hands in an instant, and then the rumpled angel was sitting next to Dean, chair pulled a bit too close, and Dean had that big, dumb smile on his face again. Castiel, for his part, appeared captivated by the prospect of adding the correct proportions of milk and sugar to his cup.

“Um. So, Set murdered Horus's dad? Was Horus a witness?” asked Dean, trying to get back to business. He reached over and flicked back Cas's necktie where it was threatening to dip into his coffee cup.

“I believe Horus hadn't been born yet,” said Carlos, who was now setting out plates and silverware and the like. Carlos didn't have to look around, but seemed to know what drawer held serving spoons and where the plates were kept. It occurred to Dean that Cecil and Carlos had been up here before, and often. He filed this away for future reference. He also noticed there were more place settings than people currently in the kitchen, and idly wondered if Sam was awake yet. He'd gotten into the habit of sleeping late while Dean was away. Another fact to file away.

“That's correct,” said Cecil. “Horus hadn't even been conceived.”

“Say what?” said Dean. 

“Isis, who was Osiris's wife, as well as his sister-” started Cecil.

“It's more complicated than a _telenovela_ , unfortunately,” Carlos apologized.

“-took the bits that Set had chopped up and stuck them back together.” Cecil mimed the chopping with his spatula.

“And that brought him back to life?” asked Dean, who was imagining some kind of Frankenstein meets the mummy scenario.

Cecil and Carlos looked at each other. “Not really,” said Cecil. “Also, his dick was missing.”

Dean had a sausage on the end of his fork, which he rapidly stuck back on his plate.

Castiel was stirring his coffee and now took an experimental sip. He must have liked it, because he smiled at Dean. “Um, are you OK listening to this, Cas?” Dean asked, as the conversation had veered into territory he wasn't certain was appropriate for an angel of the Lord.

“It's all right, Dean. I am apprised of human reproductive physiology. I believe in the case of Osiris, a replica of the anatomy was fashioned.”

“Yes, a replica was created out of gold,” said Carlos.

“Not flashy in the least,” said Cecil, who was flipping eggs and toast and potatoes onto plates more. “Breakfast is ready!” he yelled to no one in particular.

“So, Isis then had sex with a dead guy with … a golden dick?” said Dean, who wasn't entirely certain he'd actually just said what he'd said. Wait until he explained this all to Sam!

There was a pattering of little feet, and suddenly Odin and Raziel's weird twins – the dark-haired girl and redheaded boy – were at the table, hopping up into booster seats. Odin poked his head in the door, “You two, make sure to eat some eggs. Don't just snack on toast and jam!” His two wolves scurried into the kitchen and made a pass around. Cecil flipped them some bits of egg, which they, appropriately enough, wolfed down.

“Yes, Daddy!” chorused the twins.

“And thank Uncle Cecil and Uncle Carlos for the wonderful breakfast.”

“Thank you!” they warbled.

Odin turned around to go, but Dean waved at him. “Uh, Odin, about the kids. We were sort of discussing … grown up stuff,” he ended up whispering.

“Oh? What kind of grown up stuff?” asked Odin.

“Horus and Set,” said Cecil.

“Pfft. They've heard it all before,” said Odin, shaking his head. “The Egyptian pantheon isn't even the strangest of our lot. Anyway, you two help with washing up when you’re done,” he told the twins.

“Yes, Daddy!”

Odin left, whistling for his wolves, and yelling, “Raz, have you seen the baby this morning?”

Cecil cut the twins's French toast and eggs into smaller bite-sized pieces, and Carlos poured them little sippy cups of apple juice, and all sat down to eat. Dean started to tuck into his _huevos rancheros_ and found that it was really delicious. “Damn, this is wonderful,” he said, through a mouth that was probably a little too full.

“You are prefect,” said Cecil, who paused to give Carlos a quick kiss, causing the twins to giggle. “Eat your eggs!” Cecil instructed, casting his bloodshot third eye at them. 

Castiel, who had been given a full breakfast despite his intention to simply have coffee and go, was staring as if fascinated by a bit of egg on the end of his fork and, much as he'd done at the dinner party, gave it an experimental bite. A little bit of yolk dribbled down his chin. Dean grabbed his napkin and dabbed at Castiel's face.

“OK, now, we got to the part where Isis gets pregnant with Osiris's, er, golden man part,” said Dean, side-eyeing the kids.

“It was instant dramatics from the moment Horus reached maturity,” said Cecil. “Horus declared war on Set, and then Set declared war back on Horus. And when they weren't at war, they were pranking each other, oh and intermittently sleeping together.”

Dean made a sour face. “Wait, weren't they … uncle and nephew?” asked Dean.

Cecil, who was still in his four-armed mode, continued to dish up his hash browns while raising a hand to the sky. “That pantheon … no discretion.”

“But if Horus is dead, and it's possibly murder, you think Set is the place to start?”

“Well,” said Cecil, putting one of his many index fingers to his lips, “Set never did forgive Horus for that time he jacked off into his salad.”

Dean, who had just stuck a mouthful of eggs into his mouth, began choking. Castiel placed a hand on his back. There was a soft glow, and suddenly, Dean was breathing again.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean rasped, holding his throat. 

“Would you like some sour cream for your _huevos rancheros_ , Dean?” asked Cecil, holding out a tub and grinning a pointy-toothed grin.

 

Sam was sitting on a soft leather couch, and, for what seemed the hundredth time in the last few days, hunched over a borrowed cell phone. 

After an awful lot of experimentation, he had finally managed to locate a room within Odin's vast residence (Valhalla? _Seriously?_ ) where he was receiving five bars on whatever-the-heck network this phone used. HermodComm? He had never heard of it

But that had been the extent of his good luck.

“Look, I'm sorry, I meant to be there, but I got delayed,” he whispered when the other party, at long last, answered. Whoever was on the other end was speaking quite a lot louder, so he held a receiver a bit away from his ear while she held forth. “I got kidnapped!” he pleaded when it had died down. “No, to a dinner party. No, I swear I'm not being a jerk, Ruby. I had to wear a borrowed suit and eat dinner with a lot of gods and flying children. Look, it's not my fault, OK? It’s just … Night Vale. I'm trying to get away, but now we're on a case. Wait, could you- Could you hold on a minute?” Sam heard a ruckus coming down the hall, and ducked down so that he was hidden from sight behind the back of the couch. Just a moment later, two quarreling angels came storming into the room.

“You left us in the lurch!” came Raziel's fuming voice.

“Whaddya mean I left you? You were already gone!” countered the Trickster, who was actually Loki, who was actually Gabriel. Sam remembered that much from the night before. 

“I couldn't work for Him any more, He's such a fucking sexist,” she sighed.

“He's not a sexist.”

“How do you know?”

“He's a misanthrope, is what He is! He just hates everybody.”

Sam shivered as he somewhat fruitlessly attempted to make himself small behind the back of the couch. He considered staying in hiding, hoping the angels would take their argument elsewhere. On the other hand, if they were angels, they were no doubt aware he was here anyway. 

“They're an archangel short, Gabriel,” said Raziel.

“So? Go back upstairs and clock in like a good girl.”

“These are dangerous times.”

“It's always dangerous times.”

“But there are signs and portents. Odin says-”

“Odin? You've been listening to those Winchester boys babbling about the apocalypse! Always a sucker for a pretty face, Raz.”

Heaving a sigh, Sam muted the microphone on the cell phone. He sat up and cleared his throat. “Uhhh, hi, guys,” he said, offering a half-hearted little wave. “Am I interrupting?”

Raziel was holding the baby, who she hiked up on her hip. It blinked curiously at Sam and flapped its little dark wings. “You're only interrupting Gabriel being an ass.”

“Who's being an ass?” snapped Gabriel. “Signs and portents! Hmpf!”

“Signs and portents, Gabriel!” countered his sister. “It's rumored that Lucifer might be released.”

“Lucifer, what a bag of dicks.”

Raziel narrowed her eyes. “You can say that. You were always that spoiled brat's favorite.”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

Sam had begun to stand up. “Well, anyway, I should leave you two,” he muttered. He had plenty of memories of the Trickster, and none of them were good, up to and including being threatened with a butter knife, and he figured _two_ celestial entities just raised the chances of something going wrong.

“So you can keep chatting up your demon girlfriend?” Raziel asked Sam.

Sam's blood ran cold. He glanced nervously down at the phone to double-check that the mic was off, but it was no longer in his hand. Which was probably because Raziel was now holding it. “Sorry, sweetie, he's otherwise occupied right now,” she said, shutting off the call in the middle of the other party's annoyed howls.

“Don't-” pleaded Sam, wildly waving his hands.

“Sam? You're not!” said Gabriel as Sam shivered.

“You can clearly see him shaking and sweating,” said Raziel, sitting down on the couch beside Sam with the baby one her lap.

“You dumb little shit!” hollered Gabriel. “Does Dean know about this?”

Sam had slumped back down on the couch, where Gabriel now stood over him, arms crossed and a smiting expression. “Dean was in hell,” said Sam. “He didn't know. Not that it's any of your business.”

“Tsk, hell, that's not a very healthy experience,” said Raziel. She tutted. “But it was terrible for you too, wasn't it, dear?” she asked, patting Sam on his knee.

“I don't matter! My brother was in hell!” said Sam. Why did he suddenly feel like a 12-year-old who'd been caught stealing a pack of cigarettes? Angels were a lot more annoying than he had anticipated.

The angels exchanged a glance. “Kid,” said Gabriel, “you really think I would've wasted that much time tricking your pretty boy ass if I wanted you to end up a blood junkie?”

“You were actually playing tricks?” Raziel asked Gabriel.

Gabriel straightened up. “Of course! I was Loki.”

“Ah, method acting.”

“Look who's talking. I had you guys fooled, sister! Until that little idiot, Castiel, squealed on me.”

Raziel rolled her dark eyes. “Oh, I knew it was you all along.”

That seemed to throw Gabriel for a loop. “What? Wait, you knew? Then why did you let me stay?”

“Odin thought it was a good idea to keep an eye on you.”

Ignoring Sam, Gabriel arched an eyebrow. “Seriously? You ratted me out to Odin? My own sister?”

“ _Odin_ was the first one to figure it out. He's a trickster god too, remember?” said Raziel, waving a well-manicured finger.

“Damn! Those old-timey pagan gods had too many jobs. I can never keep them straight!”

“Hey, here you are!” said Dean, who had now appeared in the doorway.

Sam turned around and looked back and forth at Gabriel and Raziel in a panic, shaking his head and mouthing, _“Don't tell him.”_

Dean entered, along with the angel Castiel, who looked just as rumpled as before Raziel had gotten him cleaned up for dinner. “You missed a great breakfast, Sammy,” Dean told him, rubbing his stomach.

“I find human foodstuffs to be intriguing,” said Castiel.

“What's so fucking intriguing about breakfast cereal?” snorted Gabriel.

“Well, that's a good question,” said Dean, as Castiel glared at his brother. “Actually, we're going to find out. I was just having breakfast with Cecil and Carlos and Odin. We're gonna interview the people behind Flaky-Os. Cecil thinks they have some connection to our case.”

“What case?” asked Gabriel.

“There have been signs and portents that an apocalyptic event is at hand, Gabriel,” Castiel told him. 

“Bite me,” said Gabriel. 

Castiel started to take a step forward, but, having had enough of quarreling angels the past evening, Dean stuck out a hand to restrain him. “Don't let him get to you, Cas.”

“Cassie's been a sinch to bait since he was a fledgling,” Gabriel sniffed.

“Now, Castiel,” counseled Raziel, “just ignore Gabriel and he'll stop teasing you.”

“Ignore Gabe? You were trying to stab him last night!” Dean pointed out.

“Well, yeah, Gabe has always been an asshole,” Raziel admitted.

“Fuck you, Raz,” said Gabriel.

“I'd like to see you try,” she retorted, her dark eyes gone darker.

“Right here, right now,” taunted Gabriel.

“Hold my baby!” Raziel told Sam as young Jack's wings started to flap in agitation.

“Whoa!” said Dean, who somewhat impetuously jumped between the quarreling angels. “Guys, no smiting here!”

“Wait!” said Sam as Raziel leapt forward, sword suddenly in her hand, murder in her eyes. But baby Jack took wing and flew off before Sam could get a grip. “The kid!”

There was a shrill whistle from the doorway, and Jack coasted over to nestle in Odin's arms. “Raz!” scolded Odin. “No murder in the house before 10 am. You know the rules.”

“Dammit,” said Raziel, who snapped her fingers, which caused her sword to disappear. 

“Why aren't you fellows out on the case?” asked Odin, tapping his wristwatch. “Time's a-wasting.”

“You mean Flaky-Os?” asked Sam, who was awfully confused and regretting that he'd missed breakfast.

“We just had a confab at breakfast,” Dean told Sam. “Cas and I are gonna talk to Set out at Flaky-Os. You and Mr. Smitey here are going to break into the pyramid,” he added, pointing at Gabriel.

“Wait, why am I going with Gabriel?” Sam protested.

“You'll need a Trickster to get into the pyramid!” said Odin. 

“Even a fake one,” muttered Raziel, as Gabriel stuck his tongue out at her.

“Now, I've got Jack, I must be off on my hunt before it gets too late,” said Odin.

“Odin, you're taking the baby on a hunt?” asked Dean as Raziel grinned at her husband.

“Of course! He's airborne now!” said the Norse God. The baby flapped his wings, as if in demonstration. “Nothing like tracking prey on the wing, I say!” 

“Let me get him into his riding jumper,” said Raziel, following her husband out the door. “You boys have fun!” she called back, sparing one last scowl at Gabriel, who glared back.

Gabriel started gleefully rubbing his hands together. “All rightie, Sammy! Are you ready to play The $25,000 Pyramid?”

“I must check on Josie's status first,” scolded Cas. “And Gabriel, you would be well advised to touch base with Cecil and Carlos.”

“I think Carlos is taking care of touching Cecil's base,” said Gabriel with a grin, waggling his eyebrows.

“Gabriel,” growled Castiel.

“Bossy, aren't ya?” taunted Gabriel. “My little bro's gotten officious.”

“Gabriel, you had promised to cooperate on this mission, and to defer to my leadership,” Cas informed him. 

“Or else your big sister will get out the pointy sword again,” Dean laughed. 

“All right all right all right,” said Gabriel. “Geez.” With a rustling of wings, he blinked out and, smiling smugly, Cas followed him, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the room.

“Isn't this great, Sammy?” said Dean. “On a case again?”

“This is a case now?” Sam snapped, immediately regretting his harsh tone. His brother frowned at him, so Sam added, “Dean, we're supposed to be here checking out signs of the apocalypse. Bobby said it pointed to this place.”

“Yeah. Come on! It's gonna be more productive now than when we were trying to pass ourselves off as agents from a vague yet menacing government agency.”

“But now we're investigating a random death that might not even be a murder? Because your new buddy Odin asked you to?” Sam didn't believe what he was saying; it was like the floodgates had opened.

“Carlos says there's a high probability that the murder is tied into the signs and portents.”

“Carlos? How does he know? Has he stopped and explained any of those weird instruments to you? I mean, is the dude even doing science?”

Dean glared at his brother. “Hey, he's wearing a lab coat.”

Sam threw up his hands in exasperation. “What does he even have a degree in?”

Dean paused. “I dunno, he said something about the Miskatonic Institute of Technology. But what's up with you, Sam?”

“What do you mean what's up with me?”

Dean sat down on one of the chairs opposite Sam. This was out of character: his cocky brother actually looked uncertain. He was rubbing his hands together, and his eyes were downcast. “All those months I was gone, I mean, did something happen? I wasn't here to watch over you, so I'm just worried I guess.”

Sam paused, brought up short. He leaned forward, towards his brother. “Let me get this straight, you were in hell – literally in hell – and you were worried about _me_?”

“You're my little brother, Sammy! I mean, I know you grew up, all right? But you're still my little brother.”

Sam's cheeks were hot, and he felt himself smiling. An actual smile. He was eight years old again, and spiking a fever, and Dean was fretting and going out to shoplift some Nyquil. “I'm fine, Dean,” he soothed. “I'll be fine. Look, we'll work on the case together, it'll be fine.”

“I fucking hope so! You know how much I hate this touchy feely crap!”

Sam was laughing, and it was wonderful. “I missed you, Dean,” he said. 

“I said no touchy feely crap!”

“Then should we smash foreheads or something?” asked Sam. 

“Maybe.”

Sam sat back and crossed his long legs. “Dean, you know, about the angel-”

“Why do you think he dragged me out, Sam?” said Dean suddenly. Sam regarded his brother for a moment. Dean appeared completely serious. 

“You don't think it's just what Cas told you?”

“Why would it be worth sending an angel after me? He's a fucking _angel_ , Sam!”

“The angels are now digging that nice old ladies azaleas and you don't think they'd send one to rescue Dean Winchester, the bravest guy I know?”

Dean was caught up short for a long moment. “No touchy feely,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. 

There was the now familiar sound of the whispering of wings, and Gabriel appeared, this time accompanied by Cecil. “I got me a three-eyed a radio host, are we ready to rock?” he asked.

“Gabriel told me that you encountered some librarians the other day, Sam,” said Cecil. “I wish we had been able to properly provide a warning regarding the librarian threat beforehand. We've asked the city council about providing informational pamphlets.”

“I dunno if that would have helped,” Sam confessed. “I don't even remember how I got in: I just woke up in the library.”

“Yes, that is how you get in,” said Cecil evenly. “There are no doors or windows, so you wake up in the stacks, with no memory of how you happened to arrive there.”

“Have you thought about installing, like, an emergency exit or something?” asked Sam.

“Perhaps the next time we riot and burn it to the ground,” said Cecil. He consulted his watch. “I think that's scheduled for next Tuesday. Anyway, are you ready to go?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

“Sammy-” said Dean, but there was a rustle, and they were gone.

And then Cas was at Dean’s side, accompanied by Carlos, who was now wearing a lab coat and holding some kind of buzzing meter. 

“The Flaky-Os office is on the edge of town,” said Carlos. “I thought we would drive there, so as not to arouse suspicion.”

“Great, I can drive!” Dean told them.

Carlos looked suspicious. “You have an older vehicle powered by an internal combustion engine.”

“Aw, you mean my baby? Yeah, it's a sweet ride.”

“I rode in the back for a time the other day,” Castiel told Carlos. “It was not unpleasant.”

Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder. “Not unpleasant? Cas, man! Believe me, Doc, one ride in my baby, you'll never wanna go back.”

“I suppose one trip will not adversely affect my carbon footprint,” Carlos allowed. “And your Chevrolet is an example of classic Americana. At any rate, we are in haste.”

“Why is that?” asked Castiel.

“The clock tower has started again,” said Carlos. “Ticking down to what I hypothesize to within a 65% probability as our doom.”

“Great, let's go!” enthused Dean, slapping them both on the back.

 

Sam sat with his feet dangling, many, many meters up above the desert town of Night Vale as the ever-present helicopters buzzed around nearby. It seemed there were even more of them than there had been the other day, and they looked to be all the colors of Castiel's Crayola box. The most common, however, were the ones decorated with swooping birds. 

When he had heard the pyramid was a stunt by a cereal company, he had envisioned it would be constructed from plastic, or perhaps even a helium-filled blimp. A big, puffy balloon.

But for all appearances, this thing was actually constructed of rough-hewn, ten ton stones. It must have been heavy as hell. He picked a pebble off the surface and pitched it down below. They were hovering over something Cecil called the sand wastes right now, but they had definitely been drifting, and if this thing fell down on a populated area, the results would be catastrophic.

But therein lay the problem. “If I were an ancient asshole, where would I hide an entryway?” asked Gabriel, who had been climbing around, poking here and there for a hidden doorway. 

“Ancient _astronaut_?” called Cecil, from his perch above them.

“You say it your way, I'll say it mine,” Gabriel told him.

“The Egyptian pantheon did tend to be big jerks!” Cecil cheerily agreed.

So far, the pyramid had defied the abilities of both a god and an archangel (not to mention Sam Winchester, who was most likely human) to locate the secret entrance. They had climbed all over, including underneath (which was sort of cool, actually – both Cecil and Gabriel could walk along the bottom like it was nothing), but hadn't gleaned a way in.

“Guys,” said Sam, squinting at the town below. “Hey, you noticed the clock tower is ticking again?”

“What?” asked Gabriel, suddenly staring downwards. “I thought we fixed it! Those fucking fairies!”

“Then it appears we should think of something, and quickly, else this portends our certain doom!” said Cecil, who didn't seem terribly put out by the prospect of an apocalypse.

“Cecil, can't you just blast your way in with-” said Sam, pointing to the center of his own forehead.

Cecil heaved a sigh. “Sam, my third eye exists for inner knowledge and self-awareness! I _hardly ever_ utilize it to blast out a death ray. 

“Anyway, not a good idea, kiddo,” said Gabriel. “They may have rigged it with a self-destruct mechanism.”

“The Egyptian pantheon were real jerks,” Cecil put in, in case his opinion on the matter was not already abundantly clear.

“...And we could end up destroying this whole gizmo,” Gabriel concluded. “Blooey!” Both he and Cecil got big grins on their faces at that. 

“But we wouldn't want to do that,” Cecil added hastily, looking more than slightly disappointed.

“No. We wouldn't,” Gabriel agreed.

Sam sighed as Gabriel went back to poking around the pyramid. Cecil stretched out beside Sam. “I believe I need a mental break,” said Cecil, lying back, his third eye blinking sleepily.

“Cecil,” said Sam. “I know this is kind of a random question….”

“Oh goodie! I love random questions!” said Cecil, who was instantly sitting up by his side, leaning over eagerly. “Do you want to know how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? The answer will surprise you!”

“Um,” said Sam. “Actually, it was sort of a relationship question.”

“Even better.”

Sam looked down at the city streets below. The pyramid had been drifting back towards downtown. “Well, I just noticed that you and Carlos….”

“Ah, Carlos,” said Cecil, and his entire face lit up in that sort of goofy way.

“You guys seem….”

“How do we seem?” Cecil scooched closer, his eyes lit up with joy. 

“Happy?” said Sam.

“Yesssssss,” said Cecil, lying back down, contented as a three-eyed cat. “We are that. Happy.”

Sam started at Cecil for a while. “Yeah, well, what if you’re in a relationship, and…. And you think the person is bad for you? Like, maybe ... toxic? In some ways?” 

Sam wasn’t certain why those words had escaped him: they weren’t what he had intended to say. But now there they were, out in the world.

“Then you get out of the relationship,” said Cecil.

“But…” Sam started. “What if it’s not that simple?”

“It’s simple.”

“No, it’s not!”

“You asked,” said Cecil, annoyingly.

“You’re not talking about the demon chick, are you?” snapped Gabriel, who was quite suddenly hovering nearby. “Little miss blood donor?” Cecil sat up and leaned near again as well.

“No,” fumed Sam. “And don’t you have something to do, Gabriel?”

“A demon?” asked Cecil, crossing his legs and sweeping an invisible speck of dust from his furry pants. “Ah!”

“Ah, what?” asked Sam.

“Nothing!” said Cecil, who rose gracefully to his feet. “Nothing at all. Gabriel, shouldn’t we go find that secret entrance? You know, save us all from certain doom? I have a bowling team meet up later.”

With a last glare towards Sam, Gabriel followed Cecil back up the tiered side of the pyramid.

Sam heaved a sigh. Moping, he watched as a scarab beetle scuttled past him. 

The beetle started to ring.

He looked up. Cecil and Gabriel weren’t watching. He snatched at the beetle, but it scurried away. 

He crawled on hands and knees after it, scraping up his palms, and just managed to snatch it before it disappeared into a fissure between two rocks. He put it to his ear. “Hello, hello?” he said, feeling like an idiot. “Ruby?”

 

“Have some orange juice!” urged Set. “It's fresh-squeezed from our new crop of imaginary tropical fruit!”

Dean hadn't known what to expect from an ancient Egyptian god, but whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn't the jolly man sitting behind the desk in this nondescript office out on the edge of Night Vale. He looked like someone who'd been plucked from a late night infomercial for some shit that slices and dices and sorts your records. Dean was used to watching that crap late at night on a shitty motel television when he was half asleep. So the sight of Set here in the flesh was doubly disturbing.

The ride out had been weird as well. Dean was used to the various creepy helicopters flying overhead day and night by now, but this time they had been pretty blatantly followed by a couple of the ones with the birds painted all over the side. Falcons. 

“Orange soda is the only thing we've been able to get all week,” said Dean, looking at the glass. “I mean, even in the grocery store.”

“Have you been drinking it?” Carlos asked.

“Naw, I just drank beer instead,” said Dean.

Carlos plucked the glass out of Dean's hand and set it back on the desk. “No, thank you. We're fine,” he told Set, somewhat sternly. “You are aware that several citizens who have tasted your orange drinks in the past week have ceased to exist?”

“A rare side effect,” said Set, waving a chubby hand.

Dean sat up. “Wait, I think Sammy might have grabbed an orange soda from the machine,” he said.

“I wouldn't worry,” said Castiel, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Your brother is an abomination, and is thus probably immune to such things.”

“A what?” said Dean.

“Set,” said Carlos, “we have not come here for citrus reasons. My friend here, Dean Winchester, is currently conducting an investigation into a mysterious death.”

“Who died?” asked Set, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped over his ample belly. “Not anyone I know.”

“We believe you were acquainted with the victim,” said Carlos. “In fact, there is a great than 95 percent probability, which is not statistically different from certainty.”

“Well, isn't that fancy?” said Set. “Is that why you think we can't be growing oranges out here, Mr. Scientist?”

“You can't be growing oranges out here: there is no water,” said Carlos.

Dean was pretending to study a photo on Set's desk. “How would you describe your relationship with Horus?” asked Dean. 

“Horus?” asked Set. “Why do you wish to know about Horus?”

“I understand you were friends,” Dean pressed.

“We were … related. Distant relatives,” said Set. It was a really, really bad lie, and even Set seemed to realize it. He had visibly started to sweat. “Why do you need to know?”

“Horus is dead,” said Dean.

“What? No,” said Set.

Dean had interviewed a lot of witnesses over the years, and so had a feel for people's reactions. Set was either genuinely upset, or one damned good actor.

“I burned the body myself,” said Dean. 

“Why would you do that?” demanded Set, who was quite suddenly on his feet. “You idiot! He wasn't dead! He couldn't be dead.”

“Believe me, he was pretty dead. His spirit was haunting a house up there.”

“Murderer!” intoned Set, his voice echoing with more than just sound. The room had started to vibrate, and Set's eyes glowed red.

Dean was on his feet, but Cas was quicker. Somehow, he had gotten around to the other side of the desk and had smacked Set back down into his seat. “Sit. Down,” he ordered, needlessly. Set looked around, utterly confused. 

“Cas,” said Dean, motioning with his hands.

Cas swiveled Set's chair around so the man was facing him. “You will sit down and answer Dean's questions now,” he said sternly.

“You're an angel,” said Set. “Another angel.”

Cas leaned in closer, crowding Set's space. “Yes. I am.”

Set held up his hands, seeming to have recovered himself somewhat. “Okay. Okay. Don't get your wings up.”

Cas returned to his chair and Set turned around to face Dean and Carlos once again, but this time he eyed the both of them up and down, paying particular attention to Carlos. Finally he said, “I believe there is something you need to see.”

 

Somewhere up in the mountains above Night Vale (although, as we all know, mountains do not really exist) Odin stood out in his stable, holding the reigns of an enormous, eight-legged horse. 

His wife handed him a baby. The baby had wings. Such was life in the imaginary mountains up above Night Vale.

“You're really going hunting?” said Raziel, the twins standing by her side. “Right now? Knowing what we know?”

“As you well know, Raz, there are limits to what I can do and what I can't do where humans are concerned.”

“Humans and demons,” she corrected as the twins fed the great horse, Sleipnir, a carrot. “And some meddling angels.”

“Angels do love to meddle, don't you?”

Raziel frowned. “But it just seems like they might need us to intervene.”

Odin carefully positioned Jack in his sling. Jack giggled and flapped his little wings. “Intervention? _Gods_ , as you know, cannot do such a thing.” And then he looked at her, and winked. “Me, I'm removing myself from temptation. Come, Jack.” And with that, he urged on his horse, and galloped off.

“Bye Daddy!” hollered the twins.

Raziel stared at her offspring. “You two?” she said softly.

“Yes, mummy?” said Abby while Liam looked on curiously.

“You're only half gods,” she mused. “Aren't you?”

 

A great stone pyramid hovered many meters in the air above Night Vale. Three men stood, precariously, near the bottom edge, engaged in an argument.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Gabriel, who was standing on the tier above Sam, holding the scarab beetle that used to be Sam's cell phone just out of his reach. “No way you're taking a bug call to demon girl.”

“Give me that phone,” warned Sam. “So help me I'll kill you!”

“I'd like to see you try, buck-o,” said Gabriel, blinking out just as Sam leapt for him, scraping his knees on the edge of a rock. “I think it's time you reconsidered your life choices, Sam,” Gabriel added as he appeared directly in back of Sam. Sam turned around and reached again, and this time, Gabriel blinked out and appeared below him. “You're a blood junkie, dude.”

Sam lunged, Gabriel disappeared, and Sam would have plunged over the edge and potentially down a rather messy death had Cecil not grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back onto the base of the pyramid. Sam exhaled with relief. “Oops!” said Cecil. “You overbalanced.”

Sam sat down on the step, still breathing hard. He put his head in his hands. “You guys don't understand.”

“What don't we understand?” asked Cecil. 

“You're a dumb shit?” asked Gabriel.

Cecil sat down next to Sam. “I make it one of my life's aims to be non-judgmental in these situations,” he told Sam, patting him on the shoulder. “Even when somebody is being a real jerk.”

“The blood is helping me. I don't understand how, but it is. With enough demon blood, I can exorcise demons,” Sam told Cecil. “The strongest demons. It even worked on your librarians!”

“You exorcised a librarian?” said Cecil, shooting a significant glance at Gabriel.

“Well, no,” Sam admitted. “But Gabriel said they're strong, and I had _two_ of them, and I got them to stop attacking. I mean, at least for a moment. But I'm weak now! I haven't had anything since I've been to this town. It's crazy. It's as if the town is fighting us getting together.”

“A librarian?” said Cecil, who was still looking at Gabriel, one eyebrow arched. “They are definitely formidable beings.”

Gabriel squatted down so he was at eye level with Cecil. “Formidable. And unpredictable.”

“When has that ever bothered the likes of us?” Cecil asked him, grinning a grin.

Sam suddenly looked up, glancing between the god and the angel. “Uh, what did I say?” he said.

 

Carlos had been right, it didn't look like anything could grow out here in this wasteland, not even cactus. 

“Mr. Scientist says we're counting down to Doomsday, and we're wandering around the desert?” Dean whispered to Castiel, who stayed by his side while Carlos and Set walked ahead.

“Many people have benefited from wandering in the desert,” replied Cas, his lips twitching into a small smile. “There is a kind of purity out here.”

“If you say so. So, what do you think? Did he do it?”

“The murder?” asked Castiel. Dean nodded as they watched Carlos and Set get further up ahead. “Human emotions are still a great puzzle to me. He is obviously upset by Horus's death, but I cannot say if he is the guilty party.”

“Oh, so you're Counselor Troi.”

“I hope you will find me more useful,” said Castiel.

“Wait,” said Dean. “You know Star Trek?”

“My friend, Balthazar, is a great fan.”

“Bobby likes it too. Hey, I wonder if I could get a signal out here? I haven't talked to Bobby in a while.”

Carlos and Set were getting further away, but Castiel nodded, and Dean got out his cell phone and picked a number. “Hey, Bobby! Just wanted to give you an update-” Dean was silent for a moment, holding the phone away from his ear as the party at the other end shouted over the phone.

“Is something the matter, Dean?” asked Castiel, as one didn't have to be an empath to pick up the agitation that flowed forth from the other end.

Dean held up a finger. “Bobby, what do you mean you haven't heard anything?” he said into the phone. “Sammy's been calling every day, hasn't he? No, he even lost his phone and has been borrowing....” Dean was silent once again. “All right, all right, well, we got a situation here. Yeah, and there's angels. No, wait, I got one right here.” He turned to Castiel. “Can you say hi to Bobby, Cas?”

Castiel scowled, but took up the phone, and, with great gravity, intoned, “Hello, Bobby.” He paused for a moment. “I don't understand. I do not claim to be an angel; I am, in fact, an angel.” He continued frowning, and then held up an index finger to Dean. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” he asked. And then, with soft sound of flapping wings, he was gone.

Dean stared for a while, and then broke into a grin. “I wish I woulda been there to see that!” he laughed.

That was about when the ground began to tremble. Dean noticed that both Carlos and Set were suddenly looking up into the sky. “OK. This can't be good,” muttered Dean.

 

Somewhere, a clock tolled midnight. It was a lonely sound.

And, slowly at first, but then more and more quickly, the helicopters that had been buzzing overhead – not the blue ones, nor the black ones, nor even the yellow ones, but rather the ones with murals on the side depicting birds of prey – began to land all over Night Vale.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Ragnarok, everybody!!

Sam stood trembling near the base of the pyramid, watching the Trickster and Cecil play hide and seek with an angry Night Vale librarian. 

Though to be honest, those things always seemed angry.

What had happened was that Sam had quite suddenly found himself teleported back into the damned Night Vale public library, with its shelves and shelves of useless celebrity biographies.

And something else that lived there. Something that was not meant to be on this plane of existence. Something vile. Something that was, even now, lurking in the corners. “Gabriel! Cecil!” Sam screamed. “Some help here?”

“Don't try climbing a tree,” called Cecil, who was sitting cross-legged up on the top of a high bookshelf, his third eye wide open and watching. “There are no trees in the library.”

“You guys! Get me the fuck out of here!”

“You're bagging a librarian for us, kiddo,” said Gabriel, who was standing next to Cecil, hopping up and down on his toes, brimming with excitement.

“Dammit, Gabriel!”

“There's one!” called Cecil, pointing towards a dim corner.

“Go get him, kiddo!” urged Gabriel.

“You assholes!” Sam yelled up to them. “Get me out of here!”

“Behind you, Sam!” yelled Gabriel. “Do your stuff, kid!”

“We believe in you, Sam,” added Cecil. “Well, at least up the time as you are eaten by a librarian,” he added.

Sam's mind went through the many appealing ways he knew to murder supernatural beings, and then he heard the hiss, and spun around. And there it was, big as life and ten times as disgusting. 

“Son of a bitch,” Sam declared, as Dean wasn't there to say it. Gritting his teeth, he raised a hand, and tried to burrow into the thing's foul mind, if it indeed had a mind. Gingerly, he pushed into its center of consciousness, grateful that so far, there was just the one librarian this time. So much darkness: it was madness inside here! But unlike the last time, he did not fall. He stood steady as he felt it surround him, sensed the blackness attempting to envelope him. His feet were slipping, he was ready to fall-

And then, a mad rushing of wings, and Sam was back up in mid-air, standing on top of a pyramid, at a dizzying height up above the center of downtown Night Vale, where the thing had evidently drifted now. Sam sank to his knees, while below him, Cecil and Gabriel cat-called the fretting librarian, as they led it on a ridiculous chase up and down and all around the pyramid. All it needed was a rousing round of Yakety Sax.

Sam put his head in his hands, and let his thoughts drift. He'd done it. Somehow, even in his weakened state, he'd done it. He hadn't exactly exorcised the beast but he'd … stopped it, somehow. 

“Hey, there he goes!” Gabriel shouted. Sam looked up just in time to see as the librarian somehow wriggled inside a hairline crack between two stones and disappeared.

Cecil was standing beside Sam, gripping his shoulder.

“How the hell did it do that?” Sam croaked.

“They can get practically anywhere,” Cecil told him. “Librarians are mostly boneless! They are like cats in that way.” 

“Like … cats?” asked Sam. “Forget it. So what now?” 

“Now we wait,” said Gabriel, who was also standing nearby. 

“Wait for what?” asked Sam.

There was a great creaking sound, and part of the pyramid began to move. As they watched, a couple of the massive stones started to shift, forming an entryway about halfway up the side. Some breakfast cereal poured out, spilling down on the town below.

“We're waiting for that!” announced Gabriel. “Our way in!”

“Help! Help me!” came a terrified cry from inside.

“Is that the librarian?” asked Sam.

“No, but we gotta get whoever it is out of there before the librarian checks him out, permanently,” said Gabriel, who started to place a finger on Sam's forehead.

“Oh, that's a terrible pun,” Cecil remarked.

“Could you do better?” Gabriel challenged him.

Cecil considered for a moment, putting a hand to his chin. “Let's see? Before the librarian declares him overdue? No, wait, that's not terribly good.”

“Helllllllp!” came the pitiful cry from inside the pyramid.

“Before the librarian scrambles his Dewey decimals? No, that's it.”

“Somebody! Anybody!” came a pitiful scream.

“Shouldn’t we go help the guy?” urged Sam, who, not for the first time, was getting fed up with his supernatural friends.

“Oh, wait, before the librarian discards him!” said Cecil.

“That's not bad,” said Gabriel. “Not as good as mine.”

“HELP!” screamed increasingly desperate person inside the pyramid.

“Guys!” shouted Sam. “We gotta help him.”

“All right, all right, kiddo,” said Gabriel. “But you gotta help _me_ by freezing the librarian again, so I can grab him. You good?”

Now it was Sam who paused. “Yeah, I'm good,” he said. 

Cecil and Gabriel smiled and nodded at each other, and then, with a flutter of wings, they were gone.

 

Dean recognized the guy immediately, but not the girl. Still, there was something familiar about her. 

He took off running towards Carlos and Set as soon as the newcomers had appeared. And they had literally appeared. The heavyset angel (an archangel, actually) stalked towards Carlos, and then touched two fingers upon the scientist's head.

“No! Zachariah, stop!” Dean shouted, but Zachariah, Carlos and Set all disappeared, leaving Dean alone in the middle of the desert with the girl.

“Where did they go? Where did he take him?” Dean cried.

“Dean, time is short. We gotta go get your brother, and get the hell out of here,” she said. She was small, dark-eyed, and pretty.

Dean paused. The face was new, but there was something about her. “Ruby?” he guessed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You won Jeopardy. Look, you don't have much time. I managed to convince Zachariah that I'm still training Sam.” Dean had learned long ago not to trust demons, but she seemed genuinely upset. 

“Training my brother … in what?”

“Dean, I'm telling you, we don't have time-”

“Look you demon bitch, what the hell have you been doing with my brother?” He moved to slug her, but she was quicker, and he ended up getting punched in the jaw, and knocked down on his ass.

Dean sat on the sand and rubbed his split lip.

“Dean, quit being an idiot and help me get you and your brother the hell away from here,” Ruby pleaded. “Lucifer is coming, and it won’t be pretty.”

“Lucifer? Like, the red dude with the pointy horns? _That_ Lucifer?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. She was obviously distress, but she always seemed to have time for snark. “Night Vale is located over a hellmouth! I mean, _duh_!”

Dean took Ruby’s extended hand and let her pull him to his feet. “Wait, how is that obvious?” he asked as he dusted himself off.

Ruby threw her hands up in the air. “You haven’t been watching all the weird shit that goes down here?”

“I thought the weird shit was due to this being a retirement village for ex-gods. That’s what Carlos said.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Ruby sneered. “Gods don’t retire. Guys like that are never through with worshippers.”

“But we just visited Odin. He’s got all those weird kids with the flappy wings and stuff.”

“Odin? Fuck him. Those pagan gods are gonna be useless when our master returns. Now where’s the car? We gotta get moving.”

Dean stood stubbornly in place. “Ruby, what's gonna happen to Carlos? Zachariah took him.”

“Dammit, Sam really is the smart brother, isn’t he?” Ruby huffed a sigh. “Zachariah’s gonna ransom him so Cecil will help him open the hellmouth.”

“That doesn't sound like something Cecil would do.”

“Oh yeah? He'll do it for his boyfriend. Believe me. Gods are sentimental idiots. They're like humans.”

“And then … Zach will let him go?” Dean ventured. He knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.

“Then he’ll kill him anyway! Fallen angel in league with Satan! Duh!”

“Thanks. And, uh, where is the hellmouth exactly?” asked Dean. “I mean, you wouldn’t happen to know?”

Ruby stopped and studied Dean for a long moment. 

Dean smiled innocently. “Dumb brother, remember?” he told her.

Ruby glared. “Clock tower,” she said. “The hellmouth is located in the clock tower. That’s why we stopped it from teleporting around. Now, can we go?”

“Huh. Never woulda guessed. Well, I parked the car over thataway,” he told her, pointing over her shoulder.

Ruby turned.

Dean’s demon knife flashed in the sun. And two figures fell to the ground, desperately wrestling for control.

 

“Wait until Castiel gets back,” warned Inias. 

Hester laughed. The two angels were standing on the porch at Old Woman Josie's house, swords drawn. “Castiel is an idiot. Don't you see? They shouldn't have a seraph leading this garrison. The natural order has been upset. Zachariah is an archangel!”

“Zachariah is insane,” said Inias.

“Small matter,” sniffed Hester.

“Does this mean you won't be sweeping the chimney?” asked Josie, who was sitting in a rocking chair approximately halfway between the angels. “I'm having smoke from the fire getting into my parlor.”

“It will be all right, Josie,” said Inias. Things had gotten very bad very quickly here at Josie's house. Those mysterious helicopters had started swarming down like a plague of insects, releasing a demon army, and if that wasn't bad enough, Inias had just found himself torn from landscaping duties and into an apparent angelic civil war. He wasn't certain any more who was loyal and who wasn't. Hester, who was unbalanced during the best of times, turned out to be allied with Zachariah. Inias wasn't one to participate in angel in-fighting, but he had always considered the archangel to be sort of a jerk. Even for an archangel.

“I could run her through before you could move,” said Hester, pointing to Josie.

“She's a prophet of the Lord, Hester!” said Inias, who edged closer. Josie, for her part, had continued obliviously knitting throughout the confrontation, which hadn't made his job as a bodyguard any easier.

“They've been keeping us busy with her nonsense, isn't that obvious? She's no more prophet than I am. I mean, name one of her revelations! Name one!”

The screen door bumped open and the angel, Muriel appeared, holding a tray. “Who wants lemonade?” she burbled, before she realized what was going on. Muriel was a very junior grade angel who'd been assigned to the position due to her interest in gardening. Inias thought she would probably be loyal to Castiel, but she wasn't a warrior. “Uh, oh, sorry,” she muttered.

“I'll take some, dear,” said Josie. Muriel looked frantically back and forth between Inias and Hester, and then sort of side-stepped over to Josie with the tray. Josie took a glass and drank contentedly. “Won't you have some, Hester, dear?” she offered, eyes huge behind very thick eyeglasses.

“I think I will,” said Hester, looming closer, sword drawn.

And that's when she got a face-full of lemonade.

Inias was on her a second later. They grappled and, as Josie calmly sipped lemonade, Inias disarmed her. Hester darted away, and with a beating of wings, disappeared.

“Well, wasn't that diverting?” said Josie, smiling as Inias picked himself up, panting. “Muriel, dear, would you mind getting a mop to clean up the spilled lemonade.”

“No, ma'am,” said Muriel, who disappeared into the house.

“Thank you, Josie,” said Inias.

“Any time, sweetie,” said Josie. “You were so nice about cleaning the gutters. Now, we really need to do something about those nasty helicopters.”

A car sped down the street and screeched to a halt outside Josie's house. A man darted out. “Josie! You have to help!”

“Hello, Teddy,” said Josie. “Why are you making such a racket?”

“We're being invaded,” panted Teddy.

“Yes, the city is filled with demons,” said Inias.

“No! The Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex!” said Teddy. “You need to send someone! Our way of life is in jeopardy. Plus I think they've broken my scoreboards!”

 

“You must be aware,” said Carlos, his demeanor radiating calm, “of your extremely low probability of success in this endeavor?” Carlos was unable to gesture, as Zachariah had tied him to a chair (a classic villain gambit, as Carlos well knew), so instead he merely tilted his head in an inquisitive, scientific manner.

Set, for his part, could not offer comment. He had not been tied to a chair. As he was no longer of any use to Zachariah, the erstwhile Egyptian deity was propped up off to one side, his burned out eyes still smoking, and staring blindly up at the ceiling.

“Why wouldn’t we succeed?” Zachariah grumbled.

“We are clearly the protagonists within this narrative,” said Carlos. “I must admit I haven’t had as much of a chance to study literature and comparative mythology as I have science, but I am fairly certain that allying yourself with Satan is not an heroic character arc.”

Zachariah looked up and pointed to Carlos. “I am not an ally of Lucifer, you idiot.”

“No?” said Carlos, arching an eyebrow.

Zachariah slumped in his seat, bringing his hands up to hold his bald head. “I can’t expect something like you to comprehend. The ways of heaven are ineffable! Chew on that.”

“This means … you don’t understand your own motivations either?”

The room grew darker. “Stop the meta-analysis, mud monkey,” Zachariah ordered, “or I will cut out your tongue.”

Carlos nodded and wrinkled his nose, trying to edge his thick glasses back up his nose. He tossed his head, which only made his tousled hair and strong profile even more attractive. “You might try,” he allowed. “I should warn you, however, that I’ve survived a bout of throat spiders, so you may encounter more trouble than you would expect.”

Zachariah started to say something, but then instead reached over and yanked Carlos’s jaw open. He peered down his throat, gasped, and quickly withdrew his hand.

Carlos grinned, his teeth as straight and gleaming white as so many gravestones in a military cemetery. 

Zachariah felt his vessel’s heart flutter. Just a little. “Shut up,” he muttered, and went back to his work.

“You don’t expect they’ll find us here, then?” asked Carlos, who was obviously ignoring Zachariah’s entreaties. “Under lane five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex?”

“We’re under the pin retrieval area, not the lane!” Zachariah shouted. “Get your facts straight. Besides, it was empty when I started using it for my secret lair.”

Carlos gazed down at the ruined remains of the miniature city that lay crumbled beneath their feet. “The fairies who lived here will not be pleased,” said Carlos. “And neither will Teddy Williams.”

“Why should I care about the fairies?” Zachariah snapped. 

“As for the fairies, I've personally had interactions with them before. I did not walk away from them without significant injury to my person. And Teddy Williams is formidable, after a fashion.”

“Stop this mindless patter!” ordered Zachariah. “My demon army is even now beginning their invasion.” He glowered at Carlos. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because your demon army is attempting to invade _Night Vale_ ,” said Carlos. “Nothing is as you expect here. Nothing.”

Zachariah was looming over Carlos. “All right, smarty pants. What if I took away your mouth? And lungs?”

“My current hypothesis is that you won’t be able to utilize me if I’m dead. Otherwise, you would have already killed me, as you did Set.”

“This will wipe the smile off your face,” said Zachariah. “One of your pet theories is wrong! You know why things are so weird in this ridiculous place? It’s located over a hellmouth!”

Carlos posited for a moment. He knew enough of dramaturgy that he realized villains were compelled to monologue. It seemed prudent therefore to keep the man talking. “That hypothesis would account for a good percentage of the variability. As well as the temporal paradoxes.” Time worked differently in Night Vale, as it was known to do in hell.

“Why are you not upset? I just told you you’re an idiot!” snapped Zachariah while Carlos mused on this and that.

“If a scientific hypothesis is not supported by the weight of the evidence, then it is supplanted by a new hypothesis. That is how science works.” Carlos was silent for a moment. It was just simple science. Really, he wished the public was better educated about it all. And then he had a realization. “It’s the clock tower, isn’t it?”

“It’s the clock tower, which your _boyfriend_ is gonna open up for us.”

“He won’t do it.” Carlos was certain about this, with a 95% probability.

“He will if your life depends on it.”

And with that, Carlos’s face fell. Damn! There was always that other 5% to worry about.

 

It was a good fight, but in the end, Dean just wasn’t quite as strong or quite as quick, and after some grappling, Dean was on his back, Ruby astride him, a crazed look in her eyes, the knife poised to strike into his heart. Dean was annoyed with himself. Maybe if he’d been able to get here earlier, and lay out a devil’s trap. “You dumb sonofabitch,” Ruby grumbled. She seemed angry with herself as well.

She paused, so Dean used his chance. “What will Sam say?” Dean tried. “If you kill me?”

“Why should I care?” But she didn’t sound completely convinced.

“You’d care. You _like_ him, don’t you? That’s what’s been going on.”

“I don’t like him.” But the knife remained stationery.

“And if you kill me, how do you know they’re not just gonna pull me right back outta hell?”

She looked away. She was definitely thinking about it, weighing it on her mind. “Yeah? By that time, it won’t matter.”

“You’ll still have to tell Sam how I died.” 

She frowned. She had decided. _Oh fuck_. “I don’t have time for this shit. I’ll tell him Zachariah killed you, and I’m so, so sad,” she said, rearing up with the knife.

Suddenly, in mid-strike, she gasped, her eyes and mouth suddenly filling with a fiery white light. She collapsed, still holding the knife, smoke wafting up from her burned body.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” said Cas, who had been standing behind her. “I was almost too late.”

“Dude, talk about timing!” said Dean, pushing Ruby’s body aside and leaping up. He grinned and grabbed Cas’s shoulder, and then impulsively pulled the flustered angel in to a hug. “Cas, it’s OK to hug back,” he muttered. 

Cas tentatively raised his hands, and gently patted Dean on the back. Dean pushed back and grinned at his unbelievably earnest blue-eyed angel.

He paused to grab the demon-killing knife from Ruby’s hand. “She’s back in hell, but we don’t know for how long. We got shit to do, buddy. Zachariah’s got Carlos. And we gotta get to the clock tower! It’s the hellmouth.”

“You have located the hellmouth? Yes, your friend Bobby had some theories about that.”

“Good old Bobby.”

“He also supplied me with an anti-angel sigil that may come in useful, should we have to deal with Lucifer, or Zachariah.”

“What? Really?” Dean grinned, honestly impressed. “Damn, Bobby’s awesome.”

“He is rather impressive.” Castiel’s head listed to the side. “Can you tell me, is ‘idjit’ some kind of term of endearment?”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, about as close as he ever gets. Let’s get to the-“ But before the words were out of his mouth, Dean was abruptly standing next to his black Impala, still parked outside of Flaky-Os corporate headquarters.

“We may drive back into town, and discuss strategies as we go,” said Cas.

“All right, sounds good,” said Dean, grabbing the door. He paused before entering. “I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “I mean, seriously.”

“I’m glad to see you as well,” said Castiel. And they shared a sort of funny look.

Dean climbed inside to find that Castiel was sitting next to him, without having opened the passenger door. “OK, I gotta get used to that,” said Dean, revving the car.

“We have a number of issues,” said Castiel. “Alas, we were too late, and a demon army, under the command of the demon, Alastair, is on the move.” Castiel actually winced as the Impala suddenly swerved towards the side of the road, but then quickly corrected. “Are you all right, Dean?”

“Alastair? Are you sure?” said Dean, who was suddenly perspiring.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“We had a little meeting,” Dean confessed. “Back in hell.”

 

Alastair wasn't having a good day. Actually, he hadn't had a good day since he'd set foot in Night Vale. For one thing, He'd noticed that the nightstand in his hotel room wobbled, so he had corrected it with pages torn out of the Gideon Bible, which had amused him at first. But then the next day, the nightstand wobbled again, as did the desk. He had corrected this too, only to return and find that the nightstand, desk and chair, and his bed now all wobbled. It was only a fraction of an inch, but just enough to be annoying.

He had complained at the hotel desk, only to find that there was evidently a being in his room who got her jollies by sawing a tiny fraction off of pieces of his hotel room furniture each night. A faceless old woman or something: he'd never heard of her. But when he had tried asking for another room, he was showered with porcupines and slugs, so he had thought the better of it. 

But now he was back to the swing of things leading his demon legions into battle. And it was awesome! His first move was to deploy a squad to the Night Vale end of the Bifrost rainbow bridge that connected Night Vale with Odin’s palace up in the mountains. It was a good choice. Demons hated rainbows on principle, just the way they hated kittens and puppies, so it was good riddance to bad rubbish. And that way, there could be no intervention from the various gods who had made their homes up in the mountain range that ringed Night Vale. Not that most of the residents believed in mountains.

They encountered a slight difficulty in lighting the fuses when all of their matchbooks simultaneously sprouted tentacles and began to burrow beneath the earth. But fortunately, many demons come equipped with their own hellfire. And Alastair only had to go through three or four to find one whose powers actually functioned in Night Vale. (Although the guy who had suddenly started shooting flower petals instead of flame ended up wandering off to join a commune.) But in the end, their munitions detonated, and the result was a pleasing pastel-hued cloud of smoke and a great, olive oil-filled pit where the bridge used to stand. Alastair wasn't exactly certain where the olive oil had come from, but such was his time in Night Vale that he didn't worry about it, and didn't even complain when man of his demon minions began bringing rosemary bread to dip in the pool.

There were those pesky angels to think of, as several were known to watch over a certain house out by the car lot, but Zachariah and his rebel angels would take care of them. It was good to have an archangel on their side. Even if demons tended to think of angels the same way they did of puppies and rainbows. 

And so Alastair and his troops moved on to lay siege to the part of downtown where the clock tower had come to rest, near the vacant lot behind the Ralphs. Here they encountered resistance in the form of the balaclava-clad members of the sheriff's secret police. Some of Alastair's demons at first had a trouble with their demon knives transforming into jellyfish. But they had soon adapted and just started flinging them at the Sheriff’s secret police and anyone else who stood in their way. Jellyfish were floppy, but they also carried a rather annoying sting. And the secret policemen were soon scratching and running back and forth to Ralphs to get calamine lotion.

But then the triangular shadow had passed overhead, and Alastair and his minions had looked upwards in astonishment.

It had started to rain breakfast cereal.

 

At the sound of the explosion, Dean stopped the car and got out. Cas was evidently so nonplussed that he actually opened the car door and got out the normal way.

“That’s the rainbow bridge to Odin’s house,” said Dean, who had never, ever expected a phrase like that to emerge from his mouth. There was a candy-colored mushroom cloud off in the distance. “Well, it used to be the rainbow bridge.”

“The Bifrost,” said Cas. 

“So I guess the demons don’t want any interference from Strawberry Shortcake,” said Dean.

“I don’t know why one would expect a dessert item to play into this scenario,” said Cas. “But this will prevent intercession by any of the pagan gods who make their homes in the mountains surrounding Night Vale, at least for a short time.”

“Short time, huh?” said Dean, thinking it over. “So it seems like Zach needs to strike soon.”

“You could be right, Dean. And look over there.”

Dean cast his eyes over towards where they’d driven out to the used car lot. Near Josie’s home, there was now a beam of light shining down from the heavens. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“The angels, my brothers and sisters, have cast a protective circle around Josie. There is nothing further I can do there for now. Let's get to the clock tower.”

They got back into Dean's car and traveled towards downtown. Legions of demons were battling the sheriff's secret police in the vacant lot behind the Ralphs. Dean and Cas got out of the car to look. The clock was stuck at a permanent midnight. 

A shadow passed overhead. And suddenly, they were now being drenched by a torrent of breakfast cereal that was raining down from a flying pyramid.

“Is this that Flaky-Os crap?” asked Dean, squatting down to pick up a handful.

“I believe it is,” said Castiel.

Dean popped some in his mouth. “Needs milk,” he opined.

“Castiel! Thank goodness I've found you!” exclaimed a young woman who had just appeared to the sound of beating wings. Dean guessed she was another angel, though she was dressed in a park ranger's uniform that looked to be about a size too big for her.

“Muriel!” said Castiel. “What is happening out at Josie’s house?”

“Oh, it's terrible!” she confessed. “Zachariah is in league with the demons!”

“Yes, sister,” said Cas, nodding to Dean. “We have seen him in the company of demons.”

“He's persuaded several of our company to come over to his side, and they are engaged in a battle over Josie’s house. It’s playing hell with her garden!” Muriel seemed really upset over this last part.

“Our brothers and sisters are following him?”

“Some of them! They threatened Josie.”

“Is she all right?”

“Yes, Inias managed to protect her.”

“He's an honorable warrior,” said Castiel. “And what about Hester?”

Muriel sadly shook her head. 

“Damn,” said Cas. He glanced at Dean. “She was my second in command.” He turned back to Muriel. “Do we have many loyal to us?”

“Yes: Ezekiel, Samandriel, Balthazar, Rachel....”

“And you?” 

This time she shook her head so violently her hat nearly fell off. “Oh, no, I mean, I’m on your side, but I'm not a warrior! They just sent me down to help with Josie's topiary. I'm a gardener. That's my specialty!”

Cas smiled at her. “You have been a great help to the garrison,” he told her. 

She puffed up with pride. “I cut a hedge in the shape of a feral dog! That's what Josie wanted.”

Dean nudged Castiel. “Cas, we gotta move and find Zachariah. He's got ahold of Carlos.”

“Oh, that reminds me, we know where Zachariah is!” said Muriel. “He's under lane five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. The pin retrieval area. The owner, Teddy Williams, spotted him. He's a specialist in identification of celestial beings, as is mandated by city law for bowling alley proprietors!”

Castiel nodded grimly. Dean noticed there was now a sword in his hand. “I need to go,” Castiel said softly. “Muriel, are most of the angels still battling near Josie's place?” Muriel nodded. “I need you to go back there, and I need you to do something for me. You need to paint this sigil in your own blood. Can you do that?” Muriel leaned over as Cas drew several squiggles in the dirt. “Can you remember it?”

“Yes sir!”

“All right then. Get back there and invoke this sigil.”

She nodded, and with a whispering of wings, was gone.

“What was that, Cas?” asked Dean.

“It's an angel banishing sigil. Your friend Bobby taught it to me. It will scatter the angels – all of those within range of the sigil – away from here for a time.”

Dean mulled this over. “So your allies will be gone as well?”

“It couldn't be helped. Now I must go deal with Zachariah.”

“Cas!” said Dean, grabbing the angel's arm. “Zachariah is an archangel, right? I mean, he's powerful.”

“Yes, Dean,” said Cas, but the angel would not meet his eyes.

'Look, why don't we grab Gabe or something first? I’m sure he’s still up in the pyramid, eating breakfast cereal or whatever.

“Zachariah was my charge, Dean. His malfeasance was my responsibility.”

“But … you could get, you know....”

“Dean,” said Cas, and Dean danced over slightly so he was standing in Castiel's line of sight. The angel stumbled for a moment, but then pressed on. “Zachariah has taken Carlos captive. We know that Cecil may be able to open the hellmouth. The two are in a committed relationship. It is clear Zachariah will use Carlos for ransom. Therefore, I cannot risk it.”

“It doesn’t matter to you?” Dean blurted. Cas tilted his head in puzzlement. “I mean, Cecil and Carlos: that they’re two guys, you know?”

Castiel looked genuinely nonplussed. “Humans worry about very odd matters sometimes. Love is a sacred thing, Dean.”

Dean nodded. “Then please, be careful. You have a plan, right?”

“Of course I do. I will simply try to reason with Zachariah. I’m certain I can convince him of the error of his ways.”

“You're gonna do what?” said Dean. But Castiel was already gone. “Oh, shit!”

 

“Listeners, we are currently engaged in an apocalyptic battle with a group of demons, who have landed in our town via the odd helicopters painted with complicated murals depicting birds of prey. No one knew the purpose of these helicopters, until today. Now I have in the studio the Egyptian deity, Sopdu, who was in charge of procuring these helicopters. Can you tell us about this, Mr. Sopdu?

The small, nervous-looking man in the broadcast booth with Cecil took a sip of his coffee and sighed. Cecil pointed to the microphone, and he leaned forwards towards it, slightly adjusting his headphones. “Um, hi?” He cringed back, as if he expected the microphone to unexpectedly turn into an asp. Which, this being Night Vale, it just might.

“So, you were a part of the Egyptian pantheon, Mr. Sopdu?” Cecil urged.

Looking slightly less terrified, Sopdu leaned forward again, and said, “Yes. Yes I was.”

“And what was your role?”

Sopdu took a deep breath. “I’m in charge of the dry desert winds!”

“Oh, how delightful,” said Cecil, when there was yet another awkward pause. “There is much call for that here. Being a desert community, and all.”

Sopdu smiled nervously. “I was Horus’s executive assistant for many years.” He counted off on his fingers. “You know, conducting wars, smiting the unfaithful.”

“The little things that your boss doesn’t have time to do!” said Cecil.

“Exactly. Then I had retired here. I like the dry desert air. But then Horus’s uncle, Set came and asked me to do one more job for Horus. Set was here working at your local cereal company?”

“Flaky-Os! It’s made from local imaginary corn.”

“Yeah, that’s right. He replaced the old marketing guy after the first flying pyramid was such a PR disaster.”

“Can I hazard a guess that this job for Horus involved commandeering a fleet of brightly-painted helicopters?”

“Oh, yes. And the paint job was my idea, by the way. I wanted to do things right! I know you guys already have helicopters all over the place, so I wanted ours to stand out from the crowd.” 

“They are indeed very striking,” said Cecil.

“Thank you! But then Horus heard about it and came here to see. He wasn’t happy about his falcon’s being used in the logos when it wasn’t his idea.”

“So the job wasn’t actually for Horus? I suppose he wanted to contact his Uncle Set about it?”

“Well, yeah, he did, but I never got to hear what happened. Set trapped me inside the Flaky-Os giant floating pyramid! At least until you rescued me.”

“And, did you know that the helicopters would be used by an attacking demon army?”

“No! I had no idea. I thought they were going to be used to promote their new orange juice. It’s so good, and so good for you!”

“That’s very nice.”

“I have another one! Flaky-Os, the only cereal brought to you by a floating pyramid.”

“That’s very persuasive.”

“Thank you. The pyramid was my symbol.”

“So, listeners, there you have it. A demon army in our midst! Those of you who are familiar with dark magic: I can't tell you what to do, of course. And the City Council definitely wouldn't approve of it being used against a demon army. But you have heard what you have heard, and you may now do what you will.”

 

Carlos was set free with one sweep of Castiel’s hand.

“You probably shouldn’t have come here,” Carlos told him. “Zachariah will return any moment, and I have calculated that he is approximately 245% more powerful than you.”

“Then we will depart,” said Cas, reaching two fingers towards Carlos’s forehead. But suddenly, as if by an invisible hand, Castiel was picked up and thrown roughly against the wall.

“Castiel,” sighed Zachariah, who was now standing over him. “You know, this will not be a positive mark on your upcoming performance review.”

“You are no longer my superior,” grunted Castiel. He was bloodied, but still scrambling to get to his feet.

“I am your superior in every way, shape and form. An archangel reporting to a seraph! Who ever heard of such a ridiculous notion?”

“You betrayed us for Lucifer,” said Castiel.

“For the last time, I am not in league with Lucifer!” Zachariah sighed. “I expected as much of this mud monkey,” he said, pointing to Carlos, “but I thought you might at least be able to reason. You know, I might reconsider asking you to join our side!”

“His motivations are remarkably nebulous,” put in Carlos. “And by the way, I am not a monkey. You show a poor grasp of the concepts of evolution.”

Zachariah glowered. “Do you see this pipsqueak, Castiel? Trying to hold himself up as our equal?”

“He is not your equal, Zachariah,” said Cas, who was scowling and gripping his sword.

“So you are finally learning,” sniffed Zachariah.

“Humans are our father’s greatest creation. They are in every way our superiors.”

“Are you really this earnest?” asked Zachariah, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s not all an act?”

“Zachariah, please abandon this path, while you still have time.”

“Time? You know as well as I do, time is different in Night Vale.” He lunged at Castiel, grabbing him by the collar, knocking the sword from his hand. “You know what angels were created for? One thing, and one thing alone. To sing His praises! And then what does He do? He gets bored one afternoon, and He goes and creates _them_!” He waved a hand at Carlos. “Look at the sloppy workmanship! The seams are showing!”

Carlos looked down at his lab coat, and nodded. 

“Carlos actually appears quite attractive to me,” said Castiel. “And his hair is perfect.”

“Thank you, Castiel,” said Carlos, smiling to show rows of similarly perfect teeth. 

“All right, I’ll give you the hair,” sighed Zachariah. “But humanity is flawed!”

“Except for Carlos’s hair,” said Castiel.

“Cecil’s voice is perfect, I’ve always thought,” said Carlos, looking a little dreamy-eyed.

“He has a very resonant voice,” Castiel commented.

“All right,” said Zachariah, regripping his hands on Castiel’s lapels. “In certain isolated incidents-“

“Dean’s eyes are perfect,” Castiel blurted.

“Do you think so, Castiel?” asked Carlos.

“I’ve rarely seen that shade of green before. In a human.”

“Enough!” shouted Zachariah, shaking Castiel. “Humans are flawed! Flawed! And as for our father, He already saw the extent of his mistake once, and tried to wash all of this away! Now it will all be burned clean by the apocalypse.”

“You are insane,” Castiel told him. “And you cannot win.”

“I already tried to tell him that,” said Carlos.

“Shut up, both of you!” bellowed Zachariah, who hurled Castiel against the wall once again with such force it made a dent in the plaster. Castiel collapsed in a heap. Carlos ran over and knelt down beside the fallen angel: the bleeding was worse, and he seemed unresponsive. Could angels become unconscious? 

“Idiots,” sighed Zachariah. “Of course I'll win. We are almost there. We simply have to ask the Lord of Destruction to open the hellmouth, and the apocalypse will be at hand. When Lucifer walks, my boss will come here, and make short work of him.”

“Your boss?” Carlos asked. He wasn't really terribly interested, but he noticed that Castiel's cell phone had slipped out of his pocket, so he wanted to keep Zachariah talking while he quietly grabbed it and slipped it into his own lab coat pocket.

“Yes, Michael! They will fight, and Michael will win, as he always does....”

“What if he doesn't win this time?” said Carlos. “This seems like a badly flawed plan.”

“Michael always wins.”

“Nothing is ever definite,” lectured Carlos. “All is merely probabilities.”

Zachariah was suddenly looming over Carlos. “Have I told you in the last five minutes how tiresome I'm beginning to find you?” 

Carlos, holding Castiel's unconscious form across his lap, gulped, hoping that probability was on his side.

 

Dean cursed as, once again, the floating pyramid careened away. He had been giving chase, certain that Sam was probably still inside, but every time he had drawn near, the thing took a weird turn, and he had to backtrack and once again thread his way through Night Vale's chaotic streets. 

Fortunately, the breakfast cereal the thing was dropping seemed to be keeping the demonic armies occupied, but it was still difficult getting around. Several streets were blocked by fleets of helicopters, and there was also wreckage to deal with. 

And beside this, Dean was utterly convinced that some of Night Vale's streets literally _moved_ when you weren't paying attention to them.

He turned the car around again, this time blocked by a large statue of a man wearing a terribly inaccurate Native American headdress that was somehow lying across the middle of the roadway. Dean would have to ask Cecil about it, he guessed.

Something flashed in his peripheral vision. He had just passed the community radio station. 

He flipped on his radio, and Cecil's marvelous voice came from the speakers. Cecil was in the station! Dean decided to quit following the pyramid for a while and see if Cecil knew anything about Sam. He pulled into the parking lot. Perhaps the radio host had heard about Castiel! That would be great.

 

Josie sat out on her porch.

“More lemonade, ma’am?” asked Muriel, who had thoughtfully brought out a new pitcher.

Josie held up a glass. “Where did the rest of those nice angels go?” asked Josie. “Those leaves are not going to rake themselves!”

“They were, uh, called away for a while,” said Muriel. “But I can get the rake, if you like?”

There was a sound like pounding rain. Josie sat contentedly sipping her lemonade, but Muriel craned her neck to watch. She stuck out a hand. “Breakfast cereal?” she asked.

“Oh, too darned bad I’ve run out of milk,” said Josie, slowly rocking back and forth.

 

Carlos shivered, pulling his lab coat closer around his collar, trying to focus on Castiel's cell phone.

The angel let out a small moan. 

Carlos crawled over to sit beside him. “Castiel?” he whispered.

“Dean?”

“No, it's Carlos,” he said. 

“Oh. Perfect hair,” muttered Castiel.

Carlos chuckled. “You'll be all right,” he told Castiel, even though, scientifically speaking, this was no longer likely. Zachariah had gone and stuffed them into some kind of interdimensional portal. There were a lot of those in Night Vale. They were easy to get into, but not so easy to get out of. In fact, they were impossible to get out of. 

“Dean,” whispered Castiel.

“Yes?”

“He has perfect eyes,” said the angel. And then he slipped, again, into unconsciousness.

 

“Yee-haw!” yelled Gabriel, who was now inside the floating pyramid, working the controls like an expert. He had just swooped down on a group of demons and dumped cereal all over them. This seemed to discomfit the fiendish army, especially as there was no milk around in Night Vale these days to add to it, just gallons and gallons of orange juice. And, as anyone will tell you who's actually tried that combination, it's pretty disgusting.

“Enjoying yourself?” asked Sam.

“Hey, yeah, I haven't had this much fun since the Spanish Inquisition!” enthused Gabriel. “By the way, thanks for taming that librarian for us. You're a good … well, whatever the hell kind of abomination you are.”

Sam grimaced. It hadn't been the easiest thing in the world catching the librarian once it had broken into the pyramid and nearly finished off Sopdu, the strange little Egyptian god who'd been trapped inside. Sopdu’s power seemed to consist of creating a dry breeze, so he had attempted to use it against the librarian. However, be only succeeded in drying out its already scaly skin, which further irritated the strange beast (Sam still felt an itch after getting inside the thing's mind to calm it down so Gabe could stick it back in the library).

“Is that Dean down there?” asked Sam, pointing towards where the Impala was parked near the radio station.

“Laters for brotherly reunion crap. I'm gonna drop your ass off in the bowling alley.”

“What?” asked Sam, who had kind of spaced out.

“I said I'm gonna drop your tight ass down in the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex.”

“Why? I'm going bowling?”

“Fairies, dude,” said Gabriel. “The clock tower is stopped. This is not good! You remember what Carlos said about midnight? So, go ask Bowling Alley Dude if he's got another bag full of the little people. Maybe they can start the clock again, and get it off midnight.”

“Fairies?” Sam wasn't very enthusiastic about this. He liked fairies only a little more than he liked librarians, which wasn't much. “I dunno.”

“And here we go!” said Gabriel, suddenly spinning the steering wheel. They pyramid dove, and Sam's stomach lurched. 

A moment later, Sam was on his ass on the roof of the bowling alley, the pyramid screeching away (if indeed a flying object could screech), with Gabriel hanging his head out the window screaming, “Yippie-ki-yay, motherfuckers!”

Sam took a moment to catch his breath and let his head stop spinning, and then he sadly got to his feet, dusted himself off, and began to look around for a way off the fucking roof. Fortunately, there was a doorway, and even more fortunately, Sam still had his lock pick along, so he was soon heading downstairs.

The bowling alley itself was dark and deserted, probably because of the current civil unrest that had broken out in the city, although Sam was coming to suspect this current demon war was not all that unusual for this town. 

He remembered the back and forth about the fairies living in the hidden city under the pin retrieval area, so that was the first place he looked. He hunkered down at the end of lane five, craning his neck. There was definitely a hole there, and something that looked like the ruins of a miniature city, but it appeared completely deserted. Just to make sure, Sam dropped down into the hole (it wasn't terribly deep) and poked around.

He froze. _There, in the corner._ He crept nearer, once more regretting that he didn't have a gun on him. He reached out and gave the still form a nudge with his toe. When there was no response, he hunkered down and turned it over.

Two empty eye sockets stared up at him. Sam scowled. He didn't recognize the person, and he wasn't familiar with this method of killing: it was like the individual had been burned out from the inside. It surely didn't look like a demon kill, however. 

Whoever the unlucky person was, he was definitely not a fairy. There were also a couple of normal-sized chairs and a desk here, as if humans had used the area for a while. But the chairs were knocked over, and there was nothing else here but the dead guy.

Sam scrambled back out of the hole. Rubbing his stiff back, he stood up and considered where to search next. There was a glass booth at one corner that looked like an office. Maybe that's where Teddy kept his fairies? Maybe he filed them under “F,” Sam thought, eyeing the overstuffed filing cabinets and laughing at his own terrible joke. 

That's when it hit him: a sharp blow on the back of his calf, sort of like a bee sting. “Ow,” he yelped, hopping on one foot. He turned and saw a tiny army suddenly swarming up the lane, its miniature armaments aimed at him. They looked like the tiny green army men Sam had played with as a kid. With two differences: they were not green, and they were firing real weapons. “Hey, assholes! Wait!” he yelled. “I'm on your side!” But then there was another round of firing, and something struck him in the hand and the knee. It was like being under attack by a swarm of bees. Sam thought about trying his mind power on them, but there were just too damn many minds.

He fled towards the office, only to find it locked. Then, thinking fast, he ran by one of the tables in the dining area, scooped up the salt shaker and, unscrewing it, tossed it at the tiny army.

The assault suddenly halted as every one of the fairies had to stop and count the grains of salt. “Hey, you brought it on yourselves, jerks!” Sam shouted, rubbing his tiny but painful wounds. He pulled out his lock pick again and headed for Teddy's office. The door quickly yielded to him, and he entered. The files were a mess, and he wondered if it would be worth it to boot up the ancient computer that was sitting on the desk, at least while the fairies were still occupied. He decided to give it a try, thinking maybe at least he could check his email. It was crappy still going without a phone, since Gabe and Cecil had taken away his scarab beetle.

He turned it on, hearing the hum. Did the thing have vacuum tubes or something? And of course the screen was just a DOS prompt. He shrugged and typed in HELLO WORLD.

And then he jumped, because the lights over the lanes, which had been dimmed, suddenly popped on, and the scoreboard over lane five turned on, and suddenly read, HELLO.

Sam decided Teddy must have the computer wired up to control the bowling alley. Which was weird, because it didn't seem to be plugged into anything. Including the wall socket. Well, this was Night Vale, after all.

The scoreboard now changed to read, WHO'S THERE?

Sam glanced at the computer screen. His sickly green HELLO WORLD was still the only thing typed in there. 

I'M SAM WINCHESTER. WHO ARE YOU? he typed.

There was a pause. And then the scoreboard flashed.

HELLO SAM, IT'S CARLOS. WE NEED HELP.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys, but it's finished! The final chapter got a little long (which often happens with my writing; and a little NSFW, though it's probably not quite NC-17, there are still nekkid angels. Anyway, enjoy!

“What do you think you're doing?” demanded Zachariah.

Alastair sighed. This day was not going as he'd planned. He rubbed his head, longing for sleep. He was hell's lead torturer: he was the demon _other demons_ shrunk from. But he had never endured anything quite like his stay in Night Vale. 

One of his big problems recently had been the massive number of defections from within his demon ranks. It was weird, because usually the minions of hell loved nothing more than emerging from the fiery pit to get some fresh air and generally make things difficult for everyone up here on the surface. But it was not like that. First there had been the issue of their demon weaponry transforming into various breeds of cnidarians (primarily jellyfish) and sort of oozing off. A concerned lieutenant had come to Alastair and confessed that this had changed his life, and he was forthwith leaving demon employment in order to enroll in the marine biology department at Night Vale Community College.

Alastair had listened sympathetically, and then, of course, pulled the guy's still-beating heart out of his chest and ate it. But then there had been more (a sergeant who wanted to join the local theatrical company, and some foot soldiers who had decided to work at Pinkberry) and then still more (an entire contingent had run off to the Whispering Forest when it had told them they looked particularly scheming and evil today). Ranks were thinning rapidly, and as for those who were left….

“Have you ever tried eating breakfast cereal with orange juice, My Leige?” asked Alastair. His tongue, unbidden, ran along the inner side of his teeth. Yes, that was almost certainly a cavity he was getting in his left molar.

“We have one objective: the clock tower,” Zachariah fumed. “Why are we not any closer than when this battle began?”

“Well, we're having problems finding enough cereal bowls-” Alastair started.

“Why are you _eating_ the cereal?” Zachariah demanded, his eyes full of smite.

Alastair regarded the archangel as if he were insane. He probably was. This place would do that to you. “We can't let it go to waste!” It was so obvious! 

Zachariah put his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He stood for a while, just breathing in and out. It was a strange time for yoga, but Alastair really didn't understand angels too well. He supposed he would have to get used to the new regime, and having angel overlords, what with the return of Lucifer and all. “Where is the breakfast cereal coming from?” Zachariah finally asked.

Alastair pointed upwards. “It's that crazy archangel riding the pyramid!”

Zachariah gazed up, as if seeing the Flaky-Os pyramid for the very first time. And then he focused on Alastair once again. “Archangel, you say?”

“Gabriel's back! Hadn't you heard?”

“Gabriel? That little pissant?” Zachariah's eyes darkened to a kind of cold fury that could only come from disagreements with your family. “Gabriel,” he muttered. He appeared to concentrate for a moment. “The helicopters. Sopdu's fleet?”

“Yes, the murals on the sides depicting birds of prey in flight are very creative, I think,” Alastair mused.

“Are they equipped as we asked? With the advanced weaponry?”

Alastair had to ponder that one. It was getting difficult to track his mind off the pretty colors painted on the helicopters. “Yes. We had one of our military contractors design them.”

“Good,” said Zachariah. “Hester!” he shouted.

An angel appeared at his side. She was holding a spoon and a fedora, turned upside-down and filled with Flaky-Os.

“This really tastes terrible in orange juice,” she sighed as she took a big bite.

“Why are you eating that cereal?” Zachariah raved.

“Can't let it go to waste!” she explained.

Zachariah knocked the fedora from her hand. “Where are my other rebel angels?” he demanded. “I've been calling to them all morning.”

Hester glared at the spilled cereal, little dribbles of orange juice seeping into the soil. “Oh, they were banished. Or … something.”

“Banished?”

“Oh, you know, an old angel banishing thingie-dealie. Someone must have looked it up the correct blood sigil in a book. I was out searching for cereal at the time, but there’s really nobody left around Josie’s place. Well, there’s that gardener angel. But they’re drinking lemonade, and that stuff is way too sticky sweet to have with cereal. I think…”

“Gather together the helicopter pilots,” yelled Zachariah. “Bring down that pyramid. Do it now!”

Hester once again glared at the spilled cereal, and for a moment, Alastair was convinced she was going to tell Zachariah to take a hike. But she obviously thought the better of it, and finally said, “All right, Liege-y.” And then, with a wing beat, she was gone.

 

Sam started madly typing on Teddy's ancient computer. CARLOS WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU IN THE BOWLING ALLEY? He peered up at the scoreboard above lane five for the answer.

WELL SCIENTIFICALLY SPEAKING YES AND NO.

EXPLAIN? typed Sam.

ZACHARIAH HAD ME HELD PRISONER UNDERNEATH LANE 5 OF THE BOWLING ALLEY. TO BE TECHNICALLY CORRECT IT WAS ACTUALLY UNDERNEATH THE PIN RETRIEVAL AREA OF LANE 5 IF YOU WANT TO GET TECHNICAL. ANYWAY...

The scoreboard was filled so the letters rolled off, and were replaced as Sam drummed his fingers impariently.

AT A CERTAIN POINT IN TIME CASTIEL APPEARED AND ATTEMPTED A RESCUE.

Sam typed a reply. HOW DID THAT GO?

NOT VERY WELL I’M AFRAID. SADLY HE ATTEMPTED TO REASON WITH ZACHARIAH. ZACHARIAH USED THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO ADMINISTER A SEVERE BEATING.

IS CAS OK?

HE IS BADLY WOUNDED, BUT I BELIEVE HE IS STILL ALIVE. HE APPEARS TO BE UNCONSCIOUS.

ARE U STILL UNDER LANE 5? I DIDN’T SEE U.

UNFORTUNATELY NO. WHEN ZACHARIAH DEPARTED, HE STUFFED US INTO THE HOLE IN THE WALL OF THE BOWLING ALLEY THAT LEADS INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION. THESE HOLES ONLY APPEAR TO GO IN ONE DIRECTION SO CASTIEL AND I ARE STUCK HERE, PERHAPS PERMANENTLY. I HAVE TAKEN CASTIEL'S CELLULAR PHONE AND FIGURED OUT A WAY TO GET THE TEXTING FEATURE TO SHOW UP ON THE BOWLING ALLEY SCOREBOARD.

WE CAN FIGURE OUT HOW 2 GET U OUT! LET ME GET DEAN & GABRIEL.

NO, I AM AFRAID THAT'S NOT VERY PROBABLE. AND THERE IS NOT MUCH HEAT HERE, SO I FEAR I WILL SOON SUCCUMB TO HYPOTHERMIA. AS MY LAST WISH, WILL YOU PLEASE TELL CECIL-

FUCK THAT CARLOS! WE ARE GOING 2 GET U OUT OF THERE. KEEP WARM SOMEHOW, CRAWL INTO CAS'S WINGS. I WILL RESCUE U.

YOUR PLAN HAS A VERY LOW LIKELIHOOD OF SUCCESS SAM.

DAMMIT CARLOS CECIL LOVES U! 

CECIL HAS LIVED A LONG TIME AND HAS HAD MANY AFFECTIONATE PARTNERS. FOR EXAMPLE IN A DIFFERENT INCARNATION HE WAS MARRIED TO KALI FOR MANY CENTURIES. I AM SADLY ONLY A VERY SMALL PART OF HIS LARGER EXISTENCE. 

Sam's fingers were flying. He wasn't sure quite what had gotten into him, like a kind of temporary insanity. He bent over to old keyboard with fury in his heart. NO. U R NOT A SMALL PART U R EVERYTHING. I'VE SEEN THE WAY HE LOOKS AT U & WISH I HAD SOMEONE LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. IF U DON'T COME OUT OF THERE A PART OF HIM WILL DIE. NOW QUIT THINKING LIKE A FUCKING SCIENTIST AND FIGURE OUT A WAY WE COULD GET U OUT OF THERE.

There was no answer for a while. Sam listened to the beating of his own heart while seconds ticked by, staring at the scoreboard.

CARLOS? he typed.

I DON'T KNOW SAM. MAYBE IF CASTIEL WAS AWAKE? IT'S NOT LIKELY BUT HE IS AN ANGEL AFTER ALL.

HOW DO U WAKE UP AN ANGEL?

There was another pause.

PRAY?

Sam thought about it for a while. KEEP WARM. I'VE GOT AN IDEA.

And then he was off, running along the lanes, passing the still occupied fairies, and then out the door, and through the war-torn streets of Night Vale.

 

Gabriel hooted and released more breakfast cereal from the flying pyramid. It had been centuries since he'd had such a blast. This rocked!

And then there was a sharp bang and the entire structure rocked. Quite literally.

“OK, not good,” commented Gabriel, who was suddenly full of regret that he had dropped off Sam Winchester, who would therefore not be around to witness his witty, off-the-cuff remarks.

He checked the rear viewscreen. This thing was nicely equipped. Ancient astronauts knew how to ride in style. He saw a number of those helicopters: the ones with complicated murals of birds of prey painted on the sides. 

“Oh, fuck you, demons!” he growled. It was not terribly witty, but he needed to take some evasive action. The pyramid was not really equipped for defense: lord knows, he had tried almost every button. It only seemed capable of releasing that powerfully addictive breakfast cereal, which was fine for bombing the demons down on the ground, but of limited efficacy against helicopters.

The pyramid shook again, and Gabriel watched through another viewscreen as one giant, rocky corner shattered and fell on the town below, scattering hooded figures and their dogs. Damn! He needed to hurry away from the center of town to limit damage to civilians. Gabriel rather liked humans: being a trickster was no fun without them.

He shifted direction as fast as the stupid thing would let him (it was like maneuvering a small city) and headed for the mountains, aiming at that blinking red light that was always up there (remnants of one of Vili’s old Yule celebrations - dang that man could party!). He figured he would lead them on a chase, and then ditch this floating deathtrap somewhere in the mountains.

Weapons fired, and the pyramid shook again, and then again, sustaining more and more damage. Gabriel looked at the control panels: actually, he had no fucking idea what a lot of it meant (who had time to read a manual that was mostly written in Martian?), but it looked like a lot of his meters were running into the red.

He had started to lose altitude. Which was really no surprise, as who knew really what was keeping this ridiculous thing afloat?

Another hard slam as another rocket impacted. Part of the ceiling shattered and rained down on Gabriel. 

The mountains were swiftly approaching. Would he make it?

He once more tried to aim for the blinking red light. The craft shook, and now it had started making a terrible, grinding, scraping sound. Buzzers were going off. Red lights were flashing. This was probably bad.

“All right, eject button. Eject!” yelled Gabriel, slamming a big, likely-looking red button. 

The pyramid began to play “Happy Birthday,” and released a colorful, gay banner.

“Fuck!” said Gabriel, which was not witty at all. The mountains loomed. “Eject!” he called again, punching another button. Now the viewscreens began to show a Ricky Martin video. “No no no no no!” yelled Gabriel. “Now is not the time to live La Vida Loca.”

The pyramid trembled at another rocket impact.

Gabriel punched another button, the lights lowered, and a disco ball dropped. 

The pyramid shook.

The mountains filled the forward viewscreen.

“Eject!” yelled Gabriel, slamming one last button.

 

“I don't think the phones are working, Josie,” said Muriel when she saw the old woman pick up the telephone.

“That's all right dear. This is a good friend.” Josie hummed and flipped through her address book. “Ah here it is,” she said, picking up a card. She dialed the phone – it was an old rotary phone, and made a satisfying thrum as it dialed. And then she handed the card to Muriel.

Muriel flipped the card over and over. There was absolutely nothing on the card.

“You'd like him dear,” said Josie. “He's a fly salesman. Edward? Or Ernest? Or maybe Eugene? A very nice man. Oh, hello,” she said into the dead receiver.

 

Holding his breath, Sam clung close to the side of the building, peering around the corner. 

Gabriel's pyramid had departed, heading towards the mountains, and with it the rain of breakfast cereal that had been keeping the demons docile. Now, deprived of their imaginary corn flakes, those that were left were massing again. He had nearly missed getting caught by them a couple times already. And there were too damn many to use his mind power on them.

He had been making his way to the radio station, but now was apparently cut off in all directions.

This had not been the most well thought out plan, he sadly reflected.

There were a couple of abandoned cars stalled in the middle of the intersection. Sam debated hot-wiring one of them to drive to his destination. On the one hand, the streets were probably less dangerous with most everybody holed up due to the demon invasion. On the other hand, this was Night Vale: who said hot-wiring wouldn't cause the ignition to turn into venomous snakes? 

Sam decided to take a chance, and, being careful to look around him, ran to the middle of the intersection. The first car was open, though the keys were gone. With another look around, tore off the plastic panels around the ignition cylinder and then pulled out some wires. To his surprise and delight, the ignition turned over.

And then he felt the pressure on his back.

“What do you think you're doing?” asked the demon with the knife at his back.

Keeping his hands visible, Sam slowly straightened up. “Uh, my car stalled.”

“You're hot-wiring it!” said the demon.

“Uh, yeah.” Sam didn't see the advantage of lying under the circumstances.

“Damn. When I try that here, the ignition always turns into venomous snakes,” mused the demon. He was a big guy. A really big guy. Sam's mind flicked through various ways of disarming him, and came up sadly empty.

“Just trying to get home. To my home. In Night Vale,” Sam babbled lamely. 

“You're not going anywhere,” said the demon, holding the knife to Sam's throat. “Not once I gut you.”

But then suddenly the demon's eyes and mouth filled with a hot, white light. He gave a strangled scream, and dropped to the ground.

“Bad demon!” declared Abby, one of Odin and Raziel's weird kids, as her brother, Liam, removed his hand from the guy's smoking head. They were both in their winged mode.

“Thanks, kids,” said Sam, crouching down next to the burnt out demon. He was definitely gone. Damn, angels didn't mess around! “What are you guys doing down here?”

“Mummy sent us,” said Abby as Liam nodded and sucked a thumb, their little wings flapping.

“OK, well, maybe you can help me?” said Sam, who was still crouched down at their eye level. “I'm trying to find my brother. You know, Dean?” 

The kids nodded. “Uh-HUH!”

“Can you help me?”

They looked at one another and nodded again. “Uh-HUH!” they said. 

And then there was a great flapping of little wings.

 

“But what about your Sheriff's guys?” Dean asked. He needed to talk, so the empty feeling inside would not overwhelm him.

He and Cecil were standing in the front lobby of the radio station, gazing sadly out the window at the smoking ruins of the Flaky-Os pyramid, which, pursued by helicopters, had just crashed in the mountains in a most spectacular fashion. Dean couldn't imagine that there had been survivors. He wondered if his brother had gotten out, and then told himself not to think that way. Sam had gotten out. Gabriel was a frickin’ archangel. Of course he got them out. Of course.

“The City Council has now asked the Sheriff's Secret Police to withdraw from the fight,” said Cecil.

“The townspeople-”

“Are digging in. We are experienced with this sort of thing. We've all been through Valentine's Day, and street cleaning.”

Dean gazed at Cecil. He understood none of what the guy was saying, and yet, in a way, he understood all of it. 

“Your angel, Castiel, has banished the other angels. And the Bifrost bridge has been destroyed, so we cannot look for aid from the gods of the mountains. Even if I believed in mountains.” Cecil's smile was wry.

“What about you?” Dean asked. 

Cecil bit his lip and shook his head.

“Dammit, Cecil! You're a god too! You must have powers!”

Cecil went silent. His eyes, all three of them, were brimming. “I have powers, true,” he said, his voice almost too soft for Dean to hear. “But I had promised never to use them again. I'm not certain you understand, nor that you _could_ understand. I am the lord of destruction, Dean. That is where my power lies. That's why I cannot be with Kali any more: we tend to potentiate each other in the madness. If you ask me to unlock that part of myself, it wouldn't just be the hellmouth that would be destroyed. At the very least, there would be nothing left of this town. Our Night Vale.”

“I was down there, Cecil,” said Dean. “In hell. You guys know I was. I'd give anything to keep it away from everyone. To keep it away from the people here. From people like my brother.” His voice broke, just a little bit, on that last word.

“Well, I look at it this way, my friend: Lucifer is just another change in the management. Lord knows, we've had that before.” Cecil finally turned to look at Dean. “By the way, I notice that you haven't brought up the subject of Carlos with me.”

“Cas was gonna rescue him.” Dean hoped his voice had the confidence he now lacked.

Cecil arched a pale eyebrow. “And how long ago was that?”

“Too long,” Dean admitted. Was this how it was going to end? Sitting in a community radio station, sipping coffee with a weeping ex-god who'd taken a job as a small-time radio host?

And then Dean heard the fluttering sound. It didn't sound like Cas's angel wings. It was swifter, more like the frenetic beat of a hummingbird.

Or two hummingbirds, rather. It was Odin and Raziel's weird kids.

And they were flying in, bearing Dean's huge little brother.

They dropped Sam on the floor. He grunted, but was composed enough to smile and say, “Thanks, kids!”

“Cookies!” said the little redhead, stomping up to Cecil.

“Cookies, Unka Cecil!” repeated the little brunette.

'You've been bribed?” said Cecil. “I believe you can be accommodated. Intern Murgatroyd!” he called.

“Sammy,” said Dean, who pulled his brother up from the floor and into a hug. He was literally trembling with relief. “God dammit. When the pyramid crashed....”

“It crashed? Oh, that was the explosion,” said Sam. “Damn! I think Gabriel was still in there.” He looked pained.

“I thought you hated the guy?” Dean managed a small laugh.

“I do. But, he wasn't such a bad guy.” Sam rubbed his backside, which had gotten a little bruised in the fall. “Other than being a total prick, I mean.”

“That sounds like Gabriel,” said Cecil, who was smiling as his intern brought in Eternal Scout cookies for the demanding angel children. 

Dean reached over and grabbed several cookies for himself. He bit in and was surprised to see a small fireworks display emerge from his mouth as he bit down on the choco-splosions cookie. “Coooool!” he said.

“We have a problem,” said Sam, watching somewhat irritably as everyone around him was suddenly burping out colorful explosions.

Dean watched little green sparkles appear and then fizzle out. “Oh, you mean besides demons and rebel angels and Lucifer is coming? Hey, at least we have cool cookies to eat.”

“I just left Carlos. He's at the bowling alley.”

Now Cecil was next to him, hand on his arm, his eyes – all three of them – pleading. “Carlos?” he whispered.

“He's all right, Cecil,” Sam told him. “He's all right. But Zachariah stuck them in another dimension or … something.”

“He no doubt used one of those portals that have been appearing inside local people's homes,” said Cecil philosophically. “Unfortunately, as far as anyone can determine, they are one-way.”

“But Castiel is there too,” said Sam, and now Dean had crowded near as well, his mouth full of exploding cookies. “I guess Zachariah beat him up pretty badly, but he's still alive. It's just that it's getting cold.”

“How did you communicate?” asked Cecil.

“Carlos had rigged up Cas's cell phone to talk to the scoreboard.”

“He's really clever like that,” said Cecil. “Carlos is.”

“But what do we do?” asked Dean. He wanted to knock something down. Or break something. “Can we pull down the bowling alley, get to them that way?” 

Cecil sadly shook his head. “People disappear into interdimensional portals around here all the time. It’s number five on our list of current civic hazards. But they rarely return.”

“But Cas is in there,” said Sam. “Carlos thinks we can pray to him. That's how you talk to angels.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very solid plan, Sammy,” said Dean.

Sam had grabbed his brother's arm. “Dean. _You_ need to pray to him.”

“Why me? You're the one who's daffy for angels.”

“Dean. You're the one he'll listen to. He'll hear you.”

Dean looked dubious while Cecil and his brother fretted.

“Unka Cecil!” called Abby. Dean sighed with relief. Cecil crouched down to talk to the twins, pulling a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket to wipe the chocolate off their faces. 

“Thank you!” said Liam, licking his fingers.

“For da cookies!” added his sister.

“You're welcome,” said Cecil. “And thank _you_ for rescuing Sam.”

“Welcome!” said Liam.

“We're goin' back to Mommy an' Daddy now,” Abby informed him.

“Will they be all right out there?” asked Dean. “There’s demons everywhere.”

Sam grinned. “Uh, believe me, the demons scatter when they see them coming.”

“Demons are yucky!” said Liam, wrinkling a freckled nose.

“You'll tell your Mommy and Daddy about Lucifer and the demons?” Cecil told them.

“Uh-HUH!” they chorused. 

“Daddy will be madded ‘bout the bridge,” mused Abby.

“Uh-huh,” agreed her brother. “Big boom!” They nodded sagely. And then, waving bye-bye, the angel toddlers flapped their little wings and fluttered off.

“Ha, angel kids. Pretty awesome, you know,” said Dean.

“Dean,” implored Sam. “Will you try praying to Cas?” Sam and Cecil were now both staring at him with way too many puppy dog eyes. It was annoying!

“I truly believe Castiel will hear you, Dean,” added Cecil.

Dean fumed. “Yeah, maybe.” He looked around. “Can I get some privacy?”

Cecil nodded and led him down the hallway to a small office. The sign on the door said Cecil Palmer. Dean was surprised: the room was fairly nondescript, and a bit cramped. Of course, he had been thinking of Cecil as a god, but this was just a small community radio station in a rural town. They probably didn't have a lot of money for fancy facilities.

Cecil shut the door behind him, and, now alone, Dean paced back and forth on the small extent of carpet, like a big cat in a cage. He fingered a banner for the Night Vale scorpions that was pinned up on the wall. How did you pray, again? “Now I lay me down to sleep...” he began. He heaved a sigh and stopped.

“OK, Cas? If you're out there, I got no goddamn idea how to do this. Just, if you're there, pick up? Or whatever angels do. Look, Cecil needs Carlos back, and I know you're there with him wherever Zachariah put you. So, wake up, and bring him back, all right?”

Dean started to pace again.

“And bring yourself back, right? I know we haven't known each other long. But even if it was only for a couple days, I kinda like the feeling of having a guardian angel. Even if you have no fucking idea how to tie a tie. Or how to work a coloring book. Or much of anything about humans. That's OK, we could teach you stuff. You need to ride some more in my car. It's better than flying, believe me. Just....” He trailed off. 

There was a loud noise outside. Dean went over to the small window and pulled the curtain aside. He could see, off in the distance across town, the clock tower stuck at permanent midnight while a war waged around it.

A helicopter came zooming overhead. “Cecil Palmer!” came a metallic-sounding voice from the loudspeaker. “We have control of the clock tower. We have control of Night Vale. Come to us at once, or we will begin to return your boyfriend to you. Piece by piece!”

Dean closed the curtain. “Please, Cas, hurry,” he whispered.

He opened the door and charged out of the office. “Hey, Cecil!” he shouted. “Sam?”

It was Sam, and only Sam. “Cecil's gone to the clock tower. I couldn't stop him.”

“Shit,” said Dean.

“He said we should get a car and put some distance between ourselves and the town.”

Dean was fuming. “You know, I am getting really tired of being told to get outta town. We gotta get him.”

Sam stood still. “Who else told you to get out, Dean?”

Dean froze, his hand on the radio station door. “Sam, it was like this.... Wait! Do you hear that?” He yanked open the door and ran outside to the parking lot.

There was a hushed flutter of wings. 

 

“So there was a little … situation,” said Raziel, grabbing the baby from her husband.

“A little what?” asked Odin, hopping down from Sleipnir's broad back.

“Just a little tiny … thing that happened,” she said, bouncing the baby.

“A tiny thing? How tiny?” asked the Norse god, loosening Slepinir's saddle.

“You know your rainbow bridge-y thing?”

Odin froze. He turned to face his wife. “The Bifrost,” he said.

“Now, you know, all that stuff about how you're not supposed to meddle with the humans....”

“What happened to my Bifrost bridge?” asked Odin, his face now grown very red.

“Welllll. It was blown up. A little.”

Now Odin's face was crimson.

“By demons. According to the kids.”

Odin was silent for a long moment. “Raziel,” he finally said.

“Yes, dear?”

“When you quit your job upstairs, did you by any chance keep your sword of vengeance?”

 

Gabriel groaned and strained at the several tons of rock and mortar and breakfast cereal that was now all piled on top of him. 

It moved, but only a little.

“How do I get myself into these situations?” he sighed. He had found the eject button, but only at the very instant the pyramid crashed into Night Vales not-imaginary-enough mountains, thus propelling himself right into the mountains, and below all the debris. 

The trouble was, he was out of practice. He was used to conniving his way out of situations, and this one rather called for brute strength. He could probably blast his way out, but then the stuff might just fall back on top of him and he'd be even worse off.

Sometimes, even for an archangel, life just sucked.

He did know one thing for sure: when he got out of here (and eventually, he would get out of here) brother Zach was gonna pay for this. What a douche!

He worked an arm free and wiped at his forehead. Huh, sweating. Why was it so damn hot in here? Actually, it felt like it was getting hotter. Gabriel wondered if that idiot, Zach, had already unleashed his big brother? But wouldn't Luci want to cool it down? He strained his ears. He could have sworn he heard howling out there.

Yes, it was definitely getting hot. Gabriel wiped more sweat from his now streaming brow. It was dark, but with angel eyes he noticed that some of the rocks around him were turning bright red.

He cringed, just as there was a sudden whoosh, like a wildfire.

And then, he was free. He grinned, and was answered by a big, drooly lick. “Ew,” he said, as the giant wolf nosed him. There were two of them, sniffing around.

He heard a whistle, and the wolves retreated. There was a familiar figure standing over him, her arms still smoking.

“Kali! Baby!” yelled an overjoyed Gabriel.

“How the hell do you keep getting yourself into these things?” sighed the goddess. She waved her arms around to cool them off, and then stuck out a hand to help Gabriel out of the fiery pit.

“I was just wondering the same thing, beautiful!”

“Dispense with the flirtation,” Kali told him.

“Oh, but you love it,” he said, training a hand around her waist and kissing her forehead.

“Gabriel, we need your help. The Bifrost is damaged, so I can't get down to Night Vale to offer my assistance,” she told him. 

“But I can,” he finished, stepping away. “Yeah, you're right.” He brushed off some cereal crumbs, and then flicked his wrist, so he was holding an angel blade. “And there's a certain someone I gotta go stab in the face.”

 

Carlos suddenly appeared in the middle of the Night Vale community radio parking lot. And so did Castiel, who moaned, spat blood, and sank to his knees. 

Dean was off like a shot, propping up his angel. “Cas! Are you all right? Did you hear me? Is that why you're here?” But Cas only shivered.

“Sam! It worked!” said Carlos. His lab coat was bloodstained, but he appeared to be all right. “Thank you.”

“Cas got you guys out?” Sam asked, as Cas didn't look so hot.

“He whispered your brother's name. The next thing I knew, we were here. I don't know how.” Carlos looked around. “Where is Cecil?”

“Gone to the clock tower,” said Sam. “Zachariah.”

Carlos's face fell. “We must go! Now!”

“We'll take the car,” said Sam, pointing to the Impala. “Dean?”

Dean was down on his knees, cradling the semi-conscious angel. “He's hurt, Sam.”

“All right, Dean,” said Sam, squatting down so he was at eye level with his brother. “But we gotta go. Cecil might do something dumb. We have to get Carlos back to him.”

“He's bad, Sam,” said Dean. “I think he's really bad.” Sam could hear the angel wheezing. Did angels breathe?”

“I know, but we gotta go,” said Sam, who was trying to remain calm. “We can take him along, OK? You get him in back. I'll drive.” Carefully, they placed the wounded angel in the back seat, and Dean climbed in alongside him. 

“Internal combustion engine,” said Carlos, looking at the car.

“Yeah,” said Sam, grabbing the keys.

“Good, then maybe we can intercept my stupid boyfriend before he does anything stupid,” said Carlos, climbing into the passenger seat. “Drive recklessly,” he urged.

Sam laughed. He stepped on the gas and they screeched off towards the clock tower. They drove through the shattered remains of Night Vale, though crushed cereal bowls and stagnant pools of fresh juice. The wall around the dog park was stained orange. 

When they reached the clock tower in the vacant lot next to the Ralphs, Cecil was already there, as was Zachariah, as well as the few demons who were still loyal. Alastair stood at Zachariah's side, looking confused. And Rachel was there, eating cereal out of the overturned bell of a jellyfish. She had evidently been getting stings along with her imaginary corn, as her lips were quite swollen.

“Cecil!” called Carlos. He was out of the car almost before Sam had come to the stop, running towards his boyfriend.

Cecil literally leapt into Carlos's arms, hugging him tight, and Carlos stood for a while, just holding him. 

“My Carlos,” said Cecil, muttering into Carlos's neck.

“My dear Cecil, what were you thinking?”

“I couldn't think of anything but you,” said Cecil. They stood together, holding hands, staring into each other’s eyes.

“Yes, that's very touching,” said Zachariah. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly he was holding Carlos, a blade to his neck. “Now let's see you open the hellmouth, or I'll start cutting off pieces.”

“You touch him, you touch any of these people, you do anything more to anyone I love, and I will reduce you to ashes,” Cecil warned.

Zachariah laughed. It was nasty. “You try that, and you and I both know you will obliterate this town along with the hellmouth.”

“Does that mean no more cereal?” asked Alastair. Zachariah have him a knock on the back of his head.

Cecil stood up straight. “Carlos, my dear one. I will find you, in our next incarnation. I promise. I will never leave you.” He caught his breath. “It may take a while. It may take many years. But wait for me. I will find you.”

Carlos nodded solemnly. “I'll be waiting.”

Smiling through tears, Cecil held up a hand. “Release him, Zachariah. Or I will unleash hell.”

“Yes, yes, how very poetic,” sighed Zachariah.

Dean was still sitting in back of the Impala. Castiel, in his lap, began to stir. “I need to get out there,” he mumbled. “I need to stop Zachariah.”

“Cas, you can barely stand up,” Dean told him softly. 

“I need to deal with Zachariah,” Cas insisted, speaking more confidently. He was now struggling to get up.

“All right, all right. I'll help you out, OK?” Dean piled out and put his arms around Castiel, and then draped one of the angel's arms over his shoulders so he could stand up.

“Castiel,” said Zachariah. “Don't tell me you're back for more?”

“Give it up, Zach!” Dean warned.

“Shut up, mud monkey,” said Zachariah. “Rachel,” he ordered. He sighed and knocked the cereal out of her hand. “Kill Castiel. And his boyfriend.”

Rachel glowered, but then declared, “All right, all right. Demons!”

Weapons were raised.

“Hello!” came a completely nondescript voice. 

There was a man. He was neither short nor tall. Nor thin nor fat. 

He was wearing a tan jacket, and holding a deerskin suitcase.

Everyone had turned to look at him.

“Can I offer you any flies for sale?”

 

“Sam?” asked Dean.

“Yes?” asked Sam, who was standing next to him.

“What just happened?”

Sam looked around. They were at the clock tower. Dean was on his knees, holding Castiel, who was semi-conscious. Zachariah and a demon were standing facing Cecil and Carlos, who were holding hands.

And that was it. No one else.

But hadn't there been more demons a moment ago? And an angel. Sam seemed to recall a female angel who was noshing cereal.

Oh, and a man with … a briefcase or something.

A fly buzzed around Sam, and he batted at it.

“I have no fucking idea, Dean.

“Give up, Zachariah!” said Castiel, who suddenly sat up, still spitting blood. 

“You idiot,” said Zachariah. “I'm an archangel. You're a pitiful little Seraph. I eat Seraphim for-”

But just then Zachariah gasped as he was thrown backwards.

“I eat breakfast cereal for breakfast!” said Gabriel, who had just appeared to the sound of beating wings.

“Did you do this, Zach?” asked Raziel, who had also just popped up, high heels and all. She was hovering over Castiel. “Did you do this to Castiel?”

“Did you, Zach?” asked Gabriel, who was now drawing nearer to Zachariah.

“What?” asked Zachariah, who started stumbling backwards.

“Did you hurt our baby brother?” asked Gabriel.

“Gabriel, be reasonable,” pleaded Zachariah.

“We've told you not to bully him, you asshole,” warned Raziel.

“Raziel. Gabriel.”

“We warned you,” said Gabriel.

“But he likes the humans!” Zachariah protested. 

“You wanna hear a confession, Zach?” asked Gabriel, who was now leaning close. Zachariah, looking dubious, shook his head. 

Gabriel’s eyes were stormy. “So. do. I.”

Raziel appeared behind Zachariah, yanked his head back, and Gabriel drove his angel sword right under Zachariah's chin. The archangel didn't even have time to scream, burning fire emitted from his eyes and mouth. There was a noise like a sonic boom, and a sudden wind, and when the dust settled, Zachariah lay on the vacant lot, scorched wing marks traced out around his body.

“What a dick,” said Gabriel, throwing down his sword.

“He blew up Odin's rainbow bridge!” grumbled Raziel. “My husband is ready to kill.”

“I blew it up,” Alastair confessed. “But... But now I realize it was a terrible thing to do.”

“Great,” said Raziel. “Then we'll put your ass in charge of rebuilding it.”

“Gabe,” Dean asked, “is there anything you can do for Cas? He's hurt.”

“Oh, yeah, no sweat, baby bro,” said Gabriel. He strolled over and touched two fingers to Castiel's forehead. There was a glow, and suddenly Castiel stopped wheezing. “You're probably gonna need a new trench coat. But I'm sure Raz has something in one of those walk-in closets.”

“Oh, sure!” said Raziel, grabbing Castiel by the hand and wrenching him to his feet. “We'll find you something nice your little friend will like.” She reached out to touch Castiel and Dean on their heads, and then all three disappeared to the beating of wings.

Gabriel chuckled. “Heh. You only have to mention makeover and Raz is on the job. She's like Project Runway meets the Terminator.”

“I thought you two hated each other,” said Sam, who was looking over to where Zachariah lie, his body still smoking.

“What?” said Gabriel. “Why would you think that?”

“Uh, because you're always trying to kill each other maybe?”

“Eh. It's about as good as angels ever get along. Anyway, come on, Chuckles, we've gotta build a rainbow bridge to the twenty-first century. Boss’s orders.” And so saying, Gabriel touched Alastair on the head, and they both disappeared.

Sam noticed he was alone. But not quite alone: Cecil and Carlos were now standing beside him.

“Uh. You guys should probably repair your clock tower,” said Sam. “Before more demons find it. I know where you can find some fairies, though they're gonna be busy for a while.”

“There is somewhere that you need to go now, Sam,” said Cecil. Carlos nodded. “It's just past the edge of town, near the sand wastes.”

“I- I think I know where we're going,” said Sam. He got into the Impala, and both Cecil and Carlos climbed into the passenger seat side, as Cecil didn't seem to want Carlos too far away. But the bench seat was big, so it was no problem. Cecil, sitting in the middle, called out directions, but Sam felt like he was being drawn towards the place.

It was a little motel, even older and tackier than the one he and Dean were staying in. “Would you like us to come in with you,” Cecil offered, as he handed Sam a room key.

“I- I think I'll go on in alone,” said Sam. “Thanks.” Cecil nodded, and he and Carlos stayed by the Impala as Sam trudged up the stairs and entered the room.

He sat down on the bed, which was unmade. There weren't really a lot of personal possessions here, just a suitcase full of mostly dirty clothes. He saw the remote control lying amidst the rumpled bedspread, and, on a whim, turned on the TV.

It brought up a religious channel.

Sam laughed.

“Oh shut up!”

“Ruby?” Sam hadn't expected a ghost, and especially not one that had become corporeal so fast. “What the hell?”

“Yeah,” she grumbled, plopping down on the bed next to him, which caused absolutely no give of the mattress. “Just my luck, first I can't get into town, and now I can't leave.”

“Dean and I could probably get you out, if you want.”

“Mmm. Maybe better to haunt a motel just now. Until things cool down, you know, downstairs.”

“What happened?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dean's angel boyfriend stabbed me. The little shit.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “What were you doing, Ruby?”

“Wellll, I was sort of stabbing your brother. In the heart.”

Sam had to smile. “I don't think Cas would take that too well.”

“So, he's 'Cas' now, huh? Getting pretty chummy with Mr. Celestial Warrior.”

“Dean is. Oh, and Zachariah is gone.”

“Ah, so that's what that noise was! Archangels usually cause a big mess when they blow.”

“Well, I wouldn't know.”

“Yeah,” she said. And then she fell silent. She flickered, just a little. Sam was tempted to try and put an arm around her shoulders, but knew better than to try.

“So,” said Sam, after a pause, “you were working me the whole time?”

“Hey, I really got to like you, you know? And I don't say that about everybody.”

“Well, I guess that's something.”

“So what are you guys gonna do now? You know, Zach wasn't the only halo on our side.”

“I suppose we'll help out mopping up. We've got some new allies.”

“And some big new problems.”

“Always seeing the bright side, aren't you?” he asked her.

“Hey, your brother's going with the old guardian angel thing, maybe I'll be your guardian demon.”

Sam shook his head. In Night Vale, anything was possible.

 

A god and a scientist stood waiting in the parking lot, leaning on a vintage Chevy.

“Carlos?”

“Yes?”

“It was very brave of you to say you would die with me.”

“Oh, was that what all that was about?” said Carlos.

Cecil peered at his boyfriend for a long moment. Carlos finally cracked a smile. “Hmpf!” said Cecil. “You're not perfect at all!” He scooched over and draped Carlos's arm around him. “Did you want to go for a slice afterwards?”

“Do you think Big Rico's is open?” asked Carlos. “After all of this?”

“Big Rico's is _always_ open.”

“We could go to the Moonlite. Get some pie.”

“Isn't that how this all began?” asked Cecil.

Carlos broke into a grin. “Or we could just eat at home tonight. Spend some time together. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Cecil insisted. “We need to go out.”

“To celebrate?”

Cecil was digging into one of his pockets. “There was something I needed to give you.” He withdrew a tiny box. “It's going to be a surprise of course.”

“Of course,” said Carlos, staring at the box.

“I might have Big Rico bake into a calzone,” said Cecil, who popped the box open. There was a small silver ring inside.

“Maybe better not,” said Carlos, his voice catching. “There is a non-zero probability that I might eat it by mistake.”

“That's true,” said Cecil. “Maybe you could just wear it? I mean, until we figure out our evening?”

Carlos reached out his left hand, which was trembling slightly, and Cecil slipped the ring on. “Oh, look at that, fits perfectly.”

Carlos looked at his hand. “Cecil-” he started.

“Hey, what just happened here?” asked Sam, who had just come down the stairs. He grabbed Carlos's hand and stared at it. Cecil grinned. And then the both of them found themselves engulfed in a big, big Winchester hug. 

“So, where are we going?” asked Sam, flourishing the car keys.

“The Moonlite,” said Cecil. “I think it will lend a symmetry to all of this.”

 

_Helicopters, up above us in the sky. Not an unusual occurrence for us. Not for Night Vale. But these helicopters are painted, not black or blue or even yellow, but all the colors of the rainbow. And I have been told, by those in the know, that occasionally, if you meet them on the sand wastes, that strange, black-eyed men will emerge, and give you a good breakfast, featuring toast, juice, and milk. But not orange juice. Never orange juice._

_And so another day ends, listeners._

_Our small town has picked itself up, the same as we've done after street cleaning, after Valentine's Day, after that incident with the chicken-fried steaks. The fairies from under lane five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex have managed to repair our clock tower. Instead of breakfast cereal and dark magic, this time they used actual clockwork. As well as more dark magic. As they couldn't work out the teleporting thing, the clock now will now simply fly around, which will serve to make things interesting for migrating birds and low-flying aircraft. Also, it has somehow gotten stuck on Neptunian standard time._

_Old Woman Josie tells me that the angels have made their way back to her house after they all so mysteriously vanished. Some among them, we have been told, have been called back to heaven. As to their eventual fate, I cannot say. However, the others are contentedly working in Josie's garden. She says to swing by some time, for lemonade, if you'd like._

_Exciting news: we have a new morning show at our little community radio station, featuring a new DJ. So get set for an exciting drive time! Not as exciting as when we had the entire herd of migrating Ibex pursued by predatory salt water crocodiles loose in the middle of Route 800, but exciting, nonetheless._

_And now, I have somewhere to go. I asked a very important question to someone special the other day, and he has yet to give me his formal answer. As you know, I am a stickler._

 

It was a smaller gathering this time up at Odin's residence, as work on the Bifrost reconstruction was still ongoing, so the guest list had been limited. Old Woman Josie was in attendance. She had come along with then angel, Muriel, who was soon drafted by the lady of the house to do some gardening work around Valhalla.

Castiel, who had been returned to the flush of health by his brother, had flown out to Bobby's place and brought the old hunter back for the party as well. Bobby wasn't terribly enthusiastic about angel flight, but he seemed to enjoy Valhalla, especially when Odin invited him to see their rather extensive library, which featured no biographies of Sean Penn, nor any librarians.

At some point during the evening, as they were sitting around a cosy living room (the formal dining room deemed too stuffy for the party) Cecil had crawled into Carlos's lap as his boyfriend sat on the couch, admiring his brand new silver ring. Cecil leaned close and whispered something into Carlos's ear.

Carlos's smile lit up the room. “Scientifically speaking,” he said, “Yes. As someone I know and love might say, that would be neat.”

And then Cecil had to confess what he had asked, under threat of evisceration by Raziel, who soon dropped her sword of vengeance as she yanked Cecil off Carlo’s lap to start planning the wedding of the century.

“So, what's going on with you and Kali?” Sam finally asked Gabriel, who had settled down opposite him to enjoy one of Odin's Cuban cigars. They had eaten quite a lot of food, which featured absolutely no breakfast cereal.

“Well, she dumped Baldr,” Gabriel confessed.

“Yeah?”

Gabriel looked around the room. “But … she wants to be _friends_.” Sam nodded sympathetically. “And I guess I gotta agree with her.”

“It might be better that way,” said Carlos, who was also enjoying a cigar. “She and Cecil, at least, have found they were better friends than we were lovers.”

Gabriel shrugged, obviously not convinced. “So, anyway Sammy, you wanna take a shot with her, I wouldn't mind. Seems like she took a shine to you.”

“Oh no no no!” said Sam. “I am not jumping into anything right now!”

“You will find love, Sam Winchester,” said Carlos. “Scientifically speaking, the odds are in your favor.”

“Well, not now I hope. I need, you know, some _me time_ I think.” 

“And these are some ceremonial swords,” said a musical female voice from out in the hallway. 

Everyone turned.

“Well, they're right pretty,” Bobby told Kali. “A lot of real pretty stuff out here.”

Kali smiled at him and he smiled back, and, linking arms, they proceeded down the hall.

“Dammit!” said Sam.

“Me time,” laughed Gabriel. “What about me time?”

Sam shook his head and looked around. “I need another drink. By the way, where did my brother go?”

 

At some point, both Dean and Castiel had wandered away from the other partygoers. They started wandering the corridors of the vast residence, admiring the paintings and tapestries and armaments that decorated the walls. Dean took down a saber from its scabbard and pretended to fence with it. He ran it along his thumb, and then winced: it was sharp enough to draw blood. 

Castiel smiled and grabbed Dean's hand. He gently touched his injured finger, and, with a soft glow, it healed.

“Hey, pretty cool, Cas,” said Dean.

Castiel smiled. There were universes in that smile.

“Cas, I was wondering,” said Dean.

“Yes, I know,” said Castiel.

“Wait, you know?” said Dean, who was suddenly blushing quite red. “Wait, really? Like, you can read my mind or something?”

Castiel smiled. He leaned forward slightly, closed his eyes, and touched his lips, very softly, to Dean's. Just for a brief moment. And then it was all over. “You were wondering about that,” Castiel said, his voice whisper-soft. 

Dean still had his eyes closed. “Oh. OK. Yeah. So.” He opened one eye. “Did I like it?”

Cas smiled slightly. “I think so.”

“No.”

“No?” asked Cas, suddenly crestfallen.

Dean grabbed him and kissed him again. “I can't tell. I need experiments. Like Carlos says!” Dean pushed Cas against the wall and tried an open-mouthed kiss, complete with some groping and a hip grind or two. 

“This is what you said you'd teach me?” asked Castiel when the clench broke.

“What I said?”

“When you prayed to me, Dean.”

“You heard?”

“Of course. I always hear when you pray to me.”

Dean heard some soft giggling, and they both looked upwards. “What do you two think you're doing?” he asked the two small children standing on the ceiling nearby.

“Nothing!” they chorused.

“Well, scat! We need some quality time. Go find an Egyptian god or something.”

The twins giggled and pattered off. “Now, where were we?” asked Dean. “Oh, I know, you were gonna show me your wings?”

Castiel looked puzzled, but then smiled. “Perhaps we will need some privacy,” he said, gripping the door handle that had seemingly just appeared in back of him. He backed through the door, pulling Dean along into the deserted room. 

He pulled off the rumpled trench coat and laid it carefully over a chair, as if it was something precious. And then he pulled off his ill-fitting suit jacket and tossed it atop the coat. He reached for his tie, fumbling a bit. Dean stepped forward and quickly untied the knot. He tossed the cheap blue tie into the pile.

Cas unbuttoned his crisp, white, dress shirt, button by button, agonizingly slowly, and finally tugged it up out of his ill-fitting waistband, and pulled it off.

Dean stood, barely breathing.

Cas smiled and, holding Dean’s gaze, moved his shoulders ever so slightly, like a small, effortless shrug. 

And then the room shifted, and in that small gesture, he was no longer a just man. He was wind, and sunlight, and a new-mown grass, an expanse of cirrus clouds scudding across the sky.

But he was still also a man. Dean leaned in close, and lightly touched his lips to Castiel's. The wings, lovely and dark and powerful and so, so soft, rose up and gently encircled them. Dean's hands were on Cas's hips, not as thin under all those layers of sloppy clothes as he'd imagined, but wiry muscled, Dean's thumbs now making small circles on jutting hipbones. The wings slowly faded, and he was just Cas, here with Dean, and Dean couldn't imagine anything better.

Bed. Was there a bed in this room? Dean couldn't remember, and it was dark, and it was all a world away. But then they were kissing again, and more layers were shed, some awkwardly, laughing and exploring each other. Somehow, Cas was wearing nothing but his socks. Dean was here, against the door with a naked angel in nothing but his socks. Legs wrapped around his waist, and stocking feet, and he half laughed, “Socks,” into Cas's neck.

“Sex?” asked Cas.

“Socks and violence,” said Dean, which only confused Cas more, but Dean didn't mind

That was the thing about stocking feet, you didn't hear them coming.

“Wings?” said Dean. Because that would be awesome. 

Cas got a determined look on his face. He did that shrug thing.

And next thing Dean knew, he was on the floor, with an angel on top of him. “Oh, sorry,” said Cas, the big wings having knocked them away from the door. He pushed himself up, the wings flapping. They seemed to fill the room the same way they filled the universe.

“We can do this!” said Dean. “Come on!” Holding Cas by the hands, he backed up onto the bed and slid back, not even bothering with the covers. “I’ve got you, come on!” Gripping his angel, Dean lowered that perfect ass down onto him. Cas gasped, his wings flaring out, those impossible blue eyes rolling up, and it was just so beautiful and magnificent, like a painting roaring to life, all warm and tight and crazy awesome. Cas arched his sculpted back and shivered and whispered Dean’s name, and they were everything and nothing, the stars, the void, and all the sweet, mysterious things in between.

 

_GOOD MOOOOORNING, NIGHT VALE!_

_This is your new morning drive time DJ, Gabriel, former angel of the Lord, former trickster, and current Night Vale radio personality! I'm gonna liven up your days. And party down your nights._

_Big news, commuters! There’s a truck stuck on Route 800. Aw, bo-oring. Hey, what if the truck were filled with Mexican jumping beans, and they all escaped and got in your pants! Wow, we just got things hopping._

_Let’s hear from our own Night Vale Community Radio Traffic Copter. You didn’t know we had one, did you? Hey, Rachel, Traffic Copter girl. How’s it hangin’?”_

_”Hello, Gabriel. I want to remind all your listeners to eat a balanced breakfast before they drive to work. How about imaginary corn flakes? Or our new imaginary corn pops?”_

_Sounds like good advice, Rachel!_

_Interview time! We’ll be having a lot of celebrities dropping in here, whether they like it or not. And for my very first interview, I’d like to speak to my own baby brother, Castiel! Hey, Cassie!_

Castiel squinted uncertainly around the recording booth. “Hello, Gabriel,” he said. Gabriel pointed over to a pair of headphones, and after peering at them inquisitively, Castiel slipped them on, sitting down next to his brother. “Hello, Gabriel,” he repeated.

“Hey, nice AC/DC T-shirt you’re wearing, bro,” said Gabriel.

Cas peered down at his own chest, as if realizing for the first time how he was dressed. He was casually dressed this morning, wearing blue jeans and a brown T-shirt. “Yes. It is actually the property of Dean Winchester.”

“Dean Winchester,” said Gabriel, leaning nearer, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’ve heard you two are … close?”

“We are involved in a sexual relationship. Is that what you are hinting at?” asked Cas.

“Is that so? Hey, I got an idea. Let’s see if we can get Dean in on this conversation?”

“I don’t think he will like that, Gabriel,” said Cas. But then, suddenly, Dean Winchester appeared in the studio. He was dressed in a sleveless T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and his face was half covered in shaving cream. He held a bottle of shaving cream. 

“Hey, what the *bleep*?” he exclaimed as he was promptly censored.

“Oh-ho!” said Gabriel. “That’s just what we wanted to ask about.”

“Cas?” said Dean, who suddenly found a towel had apeared in his hand. He started to wipe off his face.

“Gabriel wishes to interview us regarding out relationship, Dean.”

“*Bleep* that, Gabe,” Dean muttered.

Cas continued. “I detect he is still sensitive, following being - as you humans say - ‘dumped’ by his prior girlfriend.”

“What?” asked Gabriel. “I wasn’t dumped! It was … mutual!”

“Not according to what Kali told me,” said Castiel, as Dean chuckled and leaned his butt against the desk. 

“I don’t think our listeners want to hear about that,” said Gabriel.

“I wanna hear!” laughed Dean.

“Well,” said Cas, “I have had extensive conversations recently with Kali, as she has been sharing knitting techniques with Old Woman Josie, who is, of course, a prophet of the Lord, and under my protection.”

“Oh, look at the time!” said Gabriel. “Sorry, Cassie. Sorry, Dean,” he said, as they both suddenly disappeared. “But now it’s time to take you to… the weather!”

 

“Do you think he will work out?” asked Carlos.

Cecil switched off the clock radio on the nightstand and turned over. He snuggled close to Carlos in their bed. “I think that kid has a bright future.”

“That’s good,” said Carlos.

“…in _what_ , I don’t know. Probably not radio.”

They shared a smile.


End file.
